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“ He opens his eyes, stupidly conscious that his son Johann 
is shaking him.” 


Page 12. 


BY A STRANGE PATH 


BY 

MARGARET H. ECKERSON 


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iPVRiGH/- 

m 131890 


BOSTON AND CHICAGO 

CTonsregattonal ^unlias«,Sci}Ool anU ^ubUsf)ms i^odetg 


6*^3 


Copyright, 1890 

By Congregational Sunday-School and Publishing Society 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. An Unexpected Guest 5 

II. Johann’s Confidences 20 

III, Early Days .-40 

IV. The Frau’s Touchstone . 47 

V, A Bone of Contention 54 

VI. The Mountain Witch 64 

VII. The Lost Guldens 73 

VIII. Still a Mystery 94 

IX. Overcome of Evil 108 

X. The Frau Weitmoser 119 

XI. The Master’s Call 131 

XII. At the Brunnen 144 

XIII. The Sacramental Sabbath 152 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIV. A Day of Terror 167 

XV. The Witch Accused 181 

XVI. The Doctor Seeks a Cause 190 

XVII. Startling Developments 198 

XVIII. At the Mill 205 

XIX. Mutual Confessions 215 

XX. The Curtain Falls 226 


BY A STRANGE PATH 


CHAPTER I. 

AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 

A /TILLER Johann Hartmann stepped outside 
his mill-door and sat down on the red 
bench that stood against the white wall. He was 
thickly powdered with flour and bran, but as this 
was a natural result of his work he did not try 
to brush it off. He wisely thought that to be 
always dusting himself would be labor thrown 
away. 

He was a man of ordinary height, broad-shoul- 
dered and plump, with pleasant blue eyes, full red 
lips, and a round, good-natured face. He was 
known in the community as an indefatigable 
worker, a good neighbor, one who kept his word 
and was prospered above many. He loved his 
family, his land, and his mill, and was firmly per- 
suaded that this particular valley of southern 


5 


6 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


Germany in which he lived was the garden spot of 
the world. He based this prejudice merely on 
supposition, as he had never left the valley and 
could therefore form no conception of the great 
world around it. 

But truly it was a fair and fertile scene upon 
which he now looked. The unfenced fields, totally 
destitute of grazing animals, were covered with 
thrifty crops, some green, some mature, and all 
forming a beautifully variegated whole. The roads 
were lined with fruit-trees, the slopes were terraced 
with vineyards, the mountains wooded, the or- 
chards bowery. The sunshine of an early summer 
morning irradiated everything, the sky was pro- 
foundly blue, the air pure. The mill itself was 
a low white building, with rose-bushes trained 
against its walls and poplars and alders shading 
it. Cattle-sheds and stables surrounded the court- 
yard ; everything was animated and prosperous. 

The miller, being in a good-natured frame of 
mind, was inclined to extract amusement from 
simple material. Near by a thrifty lot of poultry 
were idly sunning themselves, lying partly on their 
sides and luxuriously stretching out their wings. 
The big red cock, who, disdaining repose, had 
been industriously scratching under a currant- 


AAT UNEXPECTED GUEST, 


7 


bush, set up a loud and long invitation for his 
wives to assemble and feast off a fat worm he had 
captured. The invitation was an impartial one, 
but each greedy fowl construed it as especially 
given to her, and off they each rushed to be first 
at the feast. They pounced and they pulled, and 
one captured it only to have another wrest it from 
her before it could be bolted. The miller laughed 
silently. 

‘‘Well, my old gray hen, you are the winner,” 
he said congratulatingly, as an ungainly gray fowl 
snatched it from a white one, and then in a trice 
disappeared round the mill corner, hotly pursued 
by the rest. The rooster, who had taken no part 
in the struggle, seeing himself left a solitary, ran 
too as fast as his legs could carry him after his 
vanished harem, and thus the miller was left to a 
sudden mental vacuity. 

He folded his arms across his broad chest and 
looked across the road at the field of thrifty young 
wheat. Here his son Johann, a boy of fourteen, 
was industriously engaged weeding. Johann was 
his second son. Gottlieb, the eldest, was a foolish 
creature who would be a life-long care to his par- 
ents, but Johann was his pride. He loved him 
dearly, and thought now, as he watched him stoop- 


8 


BY A STBANGE PATH. 


ing at his task, in reality an unpoetical object in 
his soiled ticking blouse and broad-brimmed hat, 
what a fine lad he was, how he almost did a man’s 
work, and how in time he would be the head of 
the family when he himself should be old and fee- 
ble. What promising wheat it was too ! There 
was so much depth of earth in the soil, his wheat 
harvest was generally excellent. He mused on its 
probable yield : so many bushels, so much flour. 
Well, the demand for flour never slackened. 
Bread must be eaten ; humanity had stomachs al- 
ways clamoring to be filled. Thinking about filling 
one’s stomach naturally brought to his mind the 
fact that his goodwife, Lydia, was to make a 
strudel for dinner. 

Now the worthy miller had a weakness for stru- 
dels, and took pleasure in the agreeable anticipa- 
tion of this dainty. He stretched his plump legs 
more comfortably, inclined his head at an easier 
angle and pulled his cocked hat lower over his fore- 
head, closed his heavy-lidded eyes, and gave him- 
self up to a somnolent reverie. That was small 
tax on his mental powers. 

He could see his fleshy, comely wife, the Frau 
Lydia, moving about briskly and indefatigably in 
the mill interior. She had a double chin, bright 


AJV- UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


9 


black eyes, a tanned, weather-beaten skin, and 
plump red arms with her snowy chemise sleeves 
rolled high up on them. Everybody thought the 
Frau a fine woman, and the miller was firmly per- 
suaded there was not her counterpart in the world. 
She had been the daughter of the Frau Ponteseg- 
ger, who for years had kept the mountain inn. 
What a brisk, plump fraulein she was ! She spun, 
wove, and bleached more ells of flax than any val- 
ley maiden. She wore on her round neck a 
heavy silver chain with pendent crown pieces. 
She was known to have six real silver spoons 
and six excellent feather-beds with their accompa- 
nying pillows. She was an enemy of dirt, of idle- 
ness, of inefficiency. Suitors swarmed round 
her like bees about honey, and of all the young 
men in the valley the young miller Hartmann was 
the happiest when she looked with favor on his 
suit. 

She ruled his house according to her pleasure. 
Her mother left the inn and came to abide with 
them, a busy, hard-working little woman, who took 
the greatest interest in her son-in-law’s prosperity. 
The two women ruled over the kitchen, the gar- 
den, the stables, the court-yard, and the miller ; but 
the miller enjoyed his chains and was thoroughly 


Id BY A STRANGE PATH. 

contented. And as for being an excellent cook, 
he would like to see the living person who could 
compete with Lydia in making a strudel. 

He sees her take from the yellow cupboard the 
bowl of dough which she mixed of a little butter, 
flour, salt, and warm water, and well kneaded an 
hour ago. She now takes this dough and dumps it 
on the scoured oaken table and draws it with deft 
touches, now this way, now that, and, taking the 
rolling-pin, rolls it until thin. Then taking it in 
both her large, firm hands she dexterously draws 
it out until it hangs down a snowy sheet on all 
sides of the table. Near by is the frying-pan, in 
which lie cubes of white bread fried brown. These 
cubes she takes and sprinkles all over the dough, 
while over all she spreads schier-kdse, raisins, and 
melted butter. The miller now smacks his lips 
unctuously and draws a prolonged breath. Very 
quickly and deftly the house-mother rolls up this 
mixture of good things until it is suited to the 
dimensions of the big iron pan that stands at her 
elbow half-filled with fat. Having deposited the 
strudel in this receptacle, she carries the pan to 
the out-of-door brick oven and shuts it in. 

So soothing has been this mental picture that 
the miller has by insensible degrees relapsed into 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


II 


slumber. He breathes heavily, and a quiver runs 
through his limbs. He is flying through the air 
somewhere and somehow ; the swift motion is 
pleasant but mysterious. He sees a fish flying be- 
fore him. “Ah, ha!” he says, “but that is curi- 
ous.” Then he finds himself sitting on a carpet, 
and there are people in red-and-gold clothes clap- 
ping their hands before him, and some one cries 
out, “This is the Pope of Rome I ” 

“Well,” he says, “if I am the pope, then I am, 
that is all, and it is mighty pleasant sitting at one’s 
ease here.” 

Shall we ring the bells, your popeship ? ” says 
a queer little hunchback, kneeling before him. 

“Aye, aye I ” he cries joyously; “ring them loud, 
ring them long, everywhere in all the world.” 

“ What is said is done I ” cries a black man with 
a scimiter, who looks like a fire-eater. “ But first, 
every one must kiss the pope’s toe.” 

“ Hey I kiss my toe I ” cries the miller in con- 
sternation. “ No ! A pope is only a man, let me 
tell you, and his toe is only flesh and blood like 
your own. I mean to set all this twaddle and 
mummery right, now that I am a real pope. Let 
us drub out all idols — that will be fine — and 
all idolatrous images. I do not want any more 


12 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


cardinals. I shall get them out of that business, 
and we will have no more talk about Peter, who 
was no better than the other apostles, as you all 
know. D’ ye see V' 

As he speaks a circle of men clashing bloody 
swords hems him in. “ Have your toe kissed, or 
be deposed for a false pope! ” they cry, glaring at 
him with murderous eyes. 

“May the scurvy seize you!” he cries; “and 
may the devil take me if I let you make an idol of 
me!” 

They rush on him with angry cries ; he is seized 
in an iron grip — 

Then he opens his eyes, stupidly conscious that 
his son Johann is shaking him, that he is on the 
bench outside the mill, and that two unknown 
people are staring at him. 

Now to be surprised with one’s eyes shut, while 
one’s mouth is widely opened and one’s breath 
comes with a loud noise, is decidedly subversive 
of dignity. The miller feels this keenly, coughs 
solemnly, and straightens himself with a frowning 
expression. 

He sees that the elder of the two strangers who 
are standing before him is a handwerksbursche^ 
or wandering journeyman. He wears a linen 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


13 


blouse tied about the waist with a belt, and has 
doffed a hat covered with oilskin. A wickerwork 
guarded flask hangs from a cord by his side, a 
stout stick is in his hand, and he trails behind him 
a knapsack attached to a pair of wheels. He has 
good, honest features, pleasant brown eyes that 
twinkle suspiciously now, and his white teeth 
glisten through red lips. 

^^Guten MorgeUy geU euch Gott” he says, bow- 
ing profoundly. “This, then, is the worthy miller, 
Johann Hartmann, brother of the Frau Barbara 
Rast. Glad indeed am I to see you, as is also 
this thy nephew;” and he gently pushes forward 
his young companion, a handsome, dark-eyed lad, 
who is strangely agitated. 

“Speak, Paul,” says the journeyman, encour- 
agingly. The boy, thus admonished, tries to say 
something, but his dry tongue cleaves to his 
mouth, and the miller remains staring at him 
while he mutters : “ My nephew ! Impossible ! 
Am I still dreaming ? ” 

“ No, not dreaming,” answers the traveler. 
“This lad is your sister Barbara’s son from Bre- 
men. His mother died last March, and after her 
burial he set out with me to come to you. His 
mother sent him to be your son. He is alone in 


14 by A STRANGE PATH. 

the world, and here we are together at your door. 
He has proved an excellent traveler, and I love 
him as a brother.” 

‘‘ Barbara dead ! ” says the miller, looking at the 
lad during a momentary silence. Then something 
in the young face goes to his heart and he draws 
the boy to his arms. “Ah, my nephew! Yes, 
you have Barbara’s eyes. And she, alas 1 is dead. 
My good sister, parted from me for years I ” 

The lad weeps on the miller’s broad breast, but 
can say nothing ; his heart is too agitated by con- 
flicting emotions. 

The miller’s wife appears from within the court- 
yard. The strange tableau of the boy in her 
husband’s arms, and the young journeyman stand- 
ing by as if greatly pleased, mystifies her. Curi- 
osity devours her, and she hastens to investigate 
matters. The revelation astounds her. Her 
husband’s nephew from Bremen an orphan I His 
mother dead I She is not a woman of deep or 
ready sympathy, but she is a loud and continual 
talker, and she has asked Hans Werner a complete 
catechism in less than ten minutes. 

It does not seem possible that Barbara is really 
dead and buried, and that this lad has traveled 
here on foot from the north. It is as if he had 
come from away out of the world. 


AAT UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


15 


“ And Barbara died of a cancer, say you ? And 
died poor, with nothing to be buried with ? And 
her household goods all gone, and this lad alone 
without a kreutzer ? And what kind of manage- 
ment has there been that matters should turn out 
so badly ? It was over a year ago we did receive 
a letter from her, but she said naught about pov- 
erty. A close mouth always Barbara had. The 
lad is well grown and looks like her. And, truly, 
she is dead ! Well, one has to go when death 
calls. And you, you have told me nothing of 
yourself. Your aunt lived neighbor to Barbara, 
and that is how the boy came in your charge.? 
And had he no friends in Bremen who might have ^ 
cared for him .? ” 

Come, come, goodwife,” said her husband, 
interrupting this flow of words ; ** by-and-by we 
will hear all. It is almost dinner-time and they 
are dusty and tired. Come inside, good friends.” 

They follow him into the court-yard, and Hans 
Werner, standing beside the big trough filled with 
limpid water brought in two pipes from the stream, 
takes in with keen eyes the outward evidences of 
the miller’s prosperity. He looks around at the 
pig-pens, the barns, the poultry, the orderliness of 
everything. Quantities of wood are at hand, a 


1 6 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

large manure heap lies rotting, hens are cackling 
cheerfully. ‘‘ The miller is certainly able to give 
his nephew a home and do well by him,” thinks 
Werner, who has learned to be fond of the lad 
during their weeks of close companionship, and is 
solicitous for his welfare. 

A small, leathery-skinned old woman comes trot- 
ting into the yard. Her legs and feet are bare, 
and on her head she carries a bundle of grass 
tied in a cloth. 

It is the grandmother Pontesegger, who twists 
her face into a queer grimace when she sees the 
strangers. She does not know them, but there is 
a likeness in the lad’s face to some one she dimly 
remembers. She acknowledges their salutations, 
then points towards Paul. 

^‘Who is he.?” 

My sister Barbara’s child from Bremen in the 
north. Barbara, alas ! is no more,” answers her 
son-in-law. 

She regards him attentively, with an air that 
seems to say, “ Has he thrown himself on your 
charity.?” Her parsimony thus early has taken 
active alarm and her sympathies are held in check. 
In fact, she is not often troubled with charitable 
emotions, as she is a miser. Then she proceeds 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. IJ 

to the stables with her grass, while curiosity de- 
vours her as to the sudden arrival of the lad. 

Werner, who is dusty and heated, plunges his 
face into the trough, but as he raises it with the 
drops upon it and his hair clinging in curly, wet 
masses to his tanned forehead, a saucy raven, who 
has been hidden from sight busy at some mischief 
in an old wagon, suddenly flies out and settles with 
a vicious ruffling of plumage and a discordant croak 
on the edge of the trough beside him. 

This unexpected apparition throws Werner off 
his guard. “ Holy Virgin ! ” he cries, jumping up 
in air. The miller’s son, who stands near, is 
convulsed with laughter ; he fairly squeals and 
doubles himself up in his mirth. 

Come, take courage,” he chuckles. You 
will not be hurt. Ah, Klaus, a big man jumps for 
you, a brave man, eh, Klaus } ” 

He has not a good heart,” thinks the annoyed 
journeyman, ‘‘else he would not make fun of a 
stranger.” 

“Come into the house, my friends, and let us 
talk,” says the miller. “You must tell me 
much. Ah, my dear nephew, if your dear mother 
were only here to join us, how happy would I 
be!” 


1 8 BV A STBANGE PATH. 

In the living-room which they enter all is 
cleanly, plain, and orderly. 

In one corner is the tall yellow stove, in another 
a glass-doored cupboard. The old grandmother’s 
narrow bed, covered with a gay-striped case, is on 
one side, and near the door is the settle. A 
kreuzschnabel preens his plumage in a wooden 
cage on the wall, and gay flowers bloom in painted 
wooden boxes in the window. The air is filled 
with savory odors from the strudel, which is ready 
to be placed on the dinner-table, and the table 
itself, covered with a clean linen cloth and quaint 
blue ware, is ready for the dinner hour. 

The Frau Lydia exerts herself to hasten the 
meal for the undoubtedly hungry travelers. 

“Wait to talk until I too can listen,” she says 
to her husband. “ If the J^oy is going to stay here 
there will be plenty of time to talk over matters. 
You must give an eye to the mill, too. I saw 
some one come. Gottlieb ! ” 

At his name, imperiously uttered, a tall, loosely 
jointed youth with weak features and shambling 
gait enters. He drags behind him a child’s toy, 
a rudely carved horse on wheels. “Whoa, now ! ” 
he says to it, standing it in a corner. “ Eat your 
dinner. I shall eat mine.” Then he shuffles like 


AJV UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


19 


a friendly child over to Paul, looks with his mel- 
ancholy, vacant eyes in his face, and says myste- 
riously : “ Where is my Pillitz ? Pillitz is gone. 
Have you brought her?” 


CHAPTER II. 


Johann’s confidences. 

HIS is our eldest born, our unfortunate 



Gottlieb,” said the miller to Hans Werner, 
who was gazing surprisedly and pityingly at the 
foolish lad ; and the Pillitz he is asking about is 
his cat. For the life of me, I can not see where 
the animal has gone. It was only day before 
yesterday that she was about, as lively as a 
cricket. I hate to lose her myself, for she is an 
excellent mouser. We have not a rat about the 
place since she has been here, and, of a truth, we 
were overrun before. Gottlieb is in despair. He 
loves all manner of beasts and they seem to be 
fond of him. He is a harmless lad, and is able to 
do many things. He has a good heart.” 

Gottlieb, who was listening, smiled vacantly. 
“ ‘ He has a good heart,’ ” he repeated mechan- 
ically. 

“There, do you hear that.? His memory is 
wonderful; he will say the catechism after Johann 
like a parrot. But that does n’t prove anything ; 


20 


JOHANN'S CONFIDENCES. 


21 


it is only in his head, not in his mind. I have 
wondered often why does the good God make such 
dumb souls ; but his ways are not to be ques- 
tioned, and I only desire that others shall be kind 
to my poor son, who is the victim of misfortune. 
And now the dinner is ready. I hope you bring 
good appetites to it.” And the worthy miller, 
who was of a hospitable disposition, seated them at 
the table with great satisfaction. 

Hot potatoes, milk, sauerkraut, a loaf of black 
bread from which each one would cut a slice as 
he wanted it, were before them, and in the center 
of the table was the savory, smoking strudel. 

Ah, my good wife,” said the miller with spark- 
ling eyes as he tasted it, “you have surpassed 
yourself this time.” 

“Ah, my good woman,” said the journeyman, 
who was industriously plying knife and fork, 
“never have I tasted so excellent a strudel. You 
possess the genius of cookery.” 

The Frau Lydia accepted graciously this incense 
offered at the altar of her vanity. 

“ She cooks all things to a turn,” said the de- 
lighted husband. “ And now, worthy journeyman, 
let us hear of your adventures as a traveler, and 
of the places you have seen.” 


22 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


“ Well, then,” said Werner, “ where shall I 
begin ? When one sees much, things get jostled 
and crowded in one’s mind. One thing overlays 
another, and it is singular how at odd times it all 
comes back again. I heard a wise man say once 
nothing was ever really forgotten. I think that is 
so, for once when I fell into the water and came 
near drowning, presto ! quick as that, if you will 
believe it, everything I had ever done came to my 
mind like a lightning flash — things I had lost 
sight of for years. There was a bat I killed, 
rather say tortured, when I was a four-year-old, 
and put it in the running brook, and there I saw 
that poor thing floating over the stones and utter- 
ing grating cries.” 

The Frau Pontesegger raised her eyes to the 
ceiling. “I remember the first kreutzer I ever 
earned,” she said retrospectively. 

“ I remember running a sharp stick through my 
kitten,” said Johann in an aside to Paul, who 
sat next to him. “ You ought to have seen it 
squirm.” 

Paul turned an aghast look on him. “ What a 
cruel child you must have been ! ” 

“Why, that is nothing,” said Johann, disposing 
of great mouthfuls of strudel. “ I guess you have 


yOBANN^S CONFIDENCES. 23 

been up to all manner of tricks, too. I ’ll tell 
you considerable when we are alone. Say, father, 
need I weed the wheat after dinner } I want to 
get acquainted with my new cousin.” 

“ I will give you a holiday this afternoon,” an- 
swered his father. “ It concerns me that you and 
your cousin become well acquainted. Henceforth 
he is to dwell under my roof as your brother.” 

That is good,” said Werner. Ah, worthy 
miller, I see you have a good heart. If you could 
have seen the anxiety of his good mother! H 
send my boy to my own people,’ she said. ‘My 
brother will do for him what is right. God sends 
me this hope that I may be the more willing to 
bear our separation. To part from him wrings 
my soul.’ ” 

A furtive glance at Paul betrayed to his keen 
sense the knowledge that the poor lad was pro- 
foundly agitated by sorrowful memories, and has- 
tily changing the subject, he continued : “ But I 
was to tell you of my travels and I have not 
touched upon them yet. Let me begin with 
Bremen.” He was a fluent talker, with a talent 
for graphic description, and they turned their 
heads and eyes towards him with interest. 

Suddenly, breaking in on his flow of words, the 


24 


£VA STRANGE PATH, 


grandmother jumped up. “Well, well,” she said, 
“you have seen much, but then you must see that 
we have been at table a long while, and talk, 
although it is good in its time, feeds no pigs, 
grinds no flour, cuts no grass for the cows. Come, 
come ; time is money.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Johann, “come with me, Paul. 
I will show you everything.” 

“ Yes, go with your cousin, my lad,” said Wer- 
ner, seeing Paul hesitate. “ I have some time to 
spend here yet and some words to say to your 
uncle. Go on.” 

Johann, as guide, conducted his cousin every- 
where about the farm. His tongue wagged freely 
as he showed him over the fields of carrots, 
poppies, corn, hemp, dickrubeny peas, and to- 
bacco. They strolled through the beautifully neat 
vineyard and the luxuriant orchard which, later in 
the season, would need to have its tree branches 
propped up because of the abundance of fruit. 
In the cattle-shed he showed with pride the four 
sleek cows standing ruminating in their stalls, look- 
ing over their racks with brilliant eyes. “They 
are magnificent beasts,” said Paul, stroking their 
soft skin. 

“Now let us go to the water meadow,” said 


yOHANN'S CONFIDENCES. 


25 


Johann, “and have a good talk. As father says, 
we must get acquainted.” Flocks of geese and 
ducks made clangor in the brook. “They are 
ours,” said Johann, with much satisfaction. “You 
see we have much ; our vineyard is the finest 
around, our wine the best. Now sit down on the 
bank, and let us talk. I thought I would die when 
you looked up so solemn when I told you about 
poking my kitten. You think to play off on me, 
but that is impossible. What is that flower you 
hold in your hand ? Why, it is nothing but a 
weed ! Who cares for weeds ? Throw it away. 
Teli me what boys do in Bremen.” 

He scanned Paul with great complacency. 
“And so, cousin, you have not even a home.?” 
he said. “You are clever, too, that journeyman 
says.” 

He blinked his eyes slowly, rubbed his fat, 
freckled hands together as if washing them. Ap- 
parently he was not exercised about what boys did 
in Bremen or in any other portion of the world, 
self being the pivot on which he revolved. He 
threw a pebble in the water. “ Suppose I tell you 
a fine trick I played not long ago, cousin.” 

“Tell what you please,” said Paul absently. 
Johann’s manner and tones jarred on him. He 


26 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


disliked his fashion of blinking and a disagreeable 
habit he had of thrusting out his tongue. 

“Well, then, listen. It was fun, you shall see. 
Do you see yonder mountain } Well, there in a 
miserable hut on a ledge lives the mountain witch, 
old Fraulein Vischer, just the worst witch that ever 
lived.” 

“ Do you put faith in witches } ” asked Paul. 
“ Surely you are too sensible.” 

“ Faith ! Yes ; I ’m too good a Christian not to. 
But hold your tongue and don’t break in on me. 
Old witch Vischer dances moonlight nights in the 
devil’s ring in the forest. She is yellow as a 
quince and wrinkled, oh, how wrinkled ! She 
makes witches’ broth in a big cauldron — snakes 
and toads and calves’ eyes, and I don’t know what 
she stirs in it ; and she rides broomsticks as well 
as a trooper rides his horse ; and she flies up chim- 
neys, and has cream although she keeps no cow. 
But you are laughing at me ; I see it in your eyes. 
I will not go on.” And Johann threw himself 
sulkily on his back and irritably plucked some un- 
offending grasses up by the roots. 

“ Do not do that,” said Paul gently; “let them 
live. I am laughing about the witch. She is 
quite versed in the black arts.” 


JOHANNES CONFIDENCES, 


27 


Johann looked at him keenly and then, mollified, 
continued : “ She can always tell when storms are 
coming, and is not that the sign of a true witch ? 
When she was mad at Peter Wenzel, the father of 
Franz and Hans, he was taken with such pains 
that he was doubled up in a heap and screamed so 
you could hear him half a mile, and the calf broke 
its leg, and the sow overlaid her litter, and the 
butter would n’t come, and it was not until he 
wrote the magic letters, — 

s A T o R 
A R E P O 
TENET 
OPERA 
ROTAS 

above his cow-stable and pig-pen that matters were 
righted and her evil spell she had put on him was 
broken. 

“ She has a red brute of a dog and a cat as black 
as the devil. Then she never invites any one in- 
side her house, which looks bad enough. Long- 
armed Hans thought to get inside once, but when 
she glowered at him and said, ‘ What do you 
want, fool 1 ’ he said he saw real sparks fly from 
her eyes, and saw the broomstick that stood near 
wiggle towards him, and he found out what his 


28 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


legs were given him for, and never stopped running 
till he came to the dorfy where he dropped down 
in a fit. You may well laugh. I can see Hans 
scuttling along the road, crying and panting, his 
eyes out of their sockets ! Well, I was always 
wild to get a peep inside her hut and the chance 
came about ; chances always come, I notice. 

“It was one day when I and Franz and Hans 
Wenzel were on the mountain, looking for elm- 
bark for pipes, and there, behold you, was her 
miserable hut empty, not even the dog around, 
only some hens scratching the gravel, and the 
black cat outside the window. 

“ We stoned the hens in the bushes, and chased 
the cat till her tail was as big as her body and her 
eyes were coals, and she ran up on the roof and 
sat there spitting at us. 

“‘Now I shall see inside if I die for it,’ said 1. 
Then I pushed the door open and stuck my head 
in ; then I put in my body, and last my feet. 

“‘You watch outside,’ I said to the boys, ‘then 
I ’ll watch and you can take your turn.’ Every- 
thing showed it was a witch’s hut. 

“There was a greasy pan full of blood, and 
what looked like a head in the chimney ; coffin 
nails were lying around, and phials full of black 


JOHANN'S CONFIDENCES. 


29 


stuff were on a little shelf in the corner, and a 
toad was hopping over the floor, and a snake was 
coiled up in the corner ! 

“ ‘ Come away now, and give us our turn,* cried 
Franz. ‘You have had your turn.’ 

“ ‘ Be still, for a fool,’ I said. ‘ When I have 
seen enough I ’ll come out, but not till then.’ 

“ ‘ Here she comes ! here she comes ! ’ they 
cried. I thought they were only fooling and 
trying to scare me, so I never budged. 

“ Then I heard them running, and there was a 
growl — the growl an angry dog makes deep down 
in his throat, and there was I, gripped in the slack 
of my breeches by the jaws of that nasty brute of 
a dog, and there stood the old witch with a basket 
on her arm, laughing in a wicked way. 

“ ‘ So you have come visiting, my fine lad,’ she 
said, dropping me a courtesy. ‘Well, have you 
said your prayers } I like patties made of human 
flesh, and you are good and plump. Does my 
little hut please you ? I have no chair to offer 
you, so you may stand and become acquainted 
with my dog. He seems to like to be near you! 
Do not stir, else he might set his teeth in your 
flesh. Why, how you shake I This is not cold 
weather. Do not be afraid of me ; I am glad to 


30 


BY A STRANGE PATH, 


have you here. No one ever visits me, and I get 
lonely. Now make yourself at home.’ Then the 
wicked old wretch actually sat down on the door- 
step and sorted her herbs and muttered spells to 
herself, and there stood I, shaking like the ague, 
the cold sweat pouring down my back, and not 
daring to stir, and the dog with his breath hot 
against me and his teeth pressing my flesh. Then 
she went off and looked up her hens and fed her 
pig that was grunting in its sty. 

“ I moved a little, and the brute growled, so 
I fairly held my breath ; my head beat like a 
hammer. I saw sparks all about me ; my tongue 
was dry as a bone. She had put a spell on me ! 
By-and-by she came into the hut. 

“ ‘ Are you there yet, you fool ? ’ she said. ‘ Get 
you home this minute ! Come and see me again 
when you like. Loose him. Bull ! ’ 

“ The beast loosed me and I ran. I would have 
turned and stoned the old hag, only I dared not ; 
but it was in my heart to do it.” 

Johann cast a black look towards heaven, as if 
the miseries and sufferings of that hour were still 
indelibly fixed on his mind ; then he smiled in a 
sinister manner and raised his right hand : — 

‘‘ Listen, now. See how I got even with her ! 


yOHANN^S CONFIDENCES. 3 I 

To begin with, I never forgave her, and as there 
are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, 
so on one of those days would come a chance to 
pay her back. 

“I saw her going along the road one Friday, 
carrying roots and herbs to the Herr Doctor at 

X Well, that was my time. ‘ All goes well,’ 

said I ; ‘ soon I shall make it better.’ Hey, did n’t 
I cover the ground well to get there ! I stoned 
the fowls dead, some of them, put a split stick on 
the cat’s tail (she was friendly and came to me, 
but you should have seen her jump and yell after 
that !), and then I tied cords for snares low down 
in the bushes across the path she would come 
home on. It would be night, you see, when she 
came, and she would not think of examining where 
she set her feet, she knows the way so well. Then 
I came home. No one had missed me and so no 
questions were asked. 

“The next day old Joseph’s wife stopped in 
with some mushrooms and white truffles she was 
taking to the Herr Doctor Maier in the dorf. 

“ ‘ Well, what is the news 1 ’ said mother. 

“ I was in the room, making a footstool of fir- 
bark, and I did n’t dare look up, but I pricked up 
my ears, I can tell you. 


32 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


“ Well, the old woman was so full of the news 
she could hardly sit down before she says : ‘ The 
mountain witch was caught in the devil’s snares 
last night and broke her leg — or almost as good 
as broke it. Joseph the wood-cutter was coming 
home after dark when he heard a kind of groaning. 
His hair stood up on his head. When spirits 
walk, one wants to be out of their way. Mind 
your own business is the best thing to do. 

‘ But the cries kept on, and after all, they 
sounded so human that, though he trembled in 
every limb, he followed the sound, and there he 
came on the mountain witch, crying and groaning, 
and not able to get up. 

‘ Some enemy has put snares in my path ! ” 
she cried. 

u < u Well, when God no longer protects one,” 
said Joseph, “ then the devil is let loose. He is a 
hard master, but as I am a Christian, I will help 
you. You have the body of a human, and I see you 
feel pain.” So he got her up and she had to lean 
heavily on him, she limped so badly and groaned 
every step. He took her just inside her hut and 
then she says : “ I am better and can now help 
myself. I do not want any more help.” 

^^‘And Joseph said, ‘*Well, satisfy yourself. 


JOHANN'S CONFIDENCES. 


J J 

You are a wise woman and can doctor your own 
leg.” You see, he was afraid, and did not want to 
put himself in her power, and all he wanted was 
to get safe home. But surely the devil had set 
traps in the path, for after he left the hut and ran 
away, something invisible clutched him about both 
ankles and he pitched head over heels down the 
mountain side and brought up at the bottom, with 
his mouth full of sand and his bones almost 
cracked. That is the pay one gets for helping a 
witch. Joseph says he will never put forth a 
finger to help one again. The devil can tend to 
his own.’ 

Dear me ! dear me ! I wanted to roll on the 
floor and shout when I heard Joseph’s old wife 
telling about it, and mother listening with her 
eyes as big as saucers. I choked, it was so funny. 

“ ‘ Don’t you see it frightens our good Johann 
to hear such tales } ’ says mother. 

‘‘ I bent my head down, and then I ran out 
behind the stables, and laughed till the tears ran 
down my cheeks. You would have laughed well, 
too, cousin Paul, had you been there.” 

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and 
looked up interrogatively at Paul. He expected 
him to give way to uproarious laughter, but Paul 


34 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


had turned his face partly from him, and he could 
see only the flushed oval of his cheek. 

Vaguely disappointed, Johann smiled and gazed 
in the brook, apparently meditating on some pleas- 
ing reminiscence and desirous of imparting more 
personal confidences. He hardly knew what Paul’, 
silence meant, but as it was his intention to con 
tinue his recitals, he began again : — 

“ Gottlieb was talking about Pillitz, was n’t he ? 
You see for yourself Gottlieb is a fool. He is a 
great plague, and father gets very angry if I just 
tease him a little for fun. Father says, ‘Thank 
God you are clever and be good to those who 
are not.’ But as I am clever, why should I be 
thankful 

“ Pillitz was a half-starved gray kitten that came 
here. Bah ! what a looking creature she was ! 
Her fur was off in spots, and her bones stuck way 
out and she staggered on her legs. 

“ Gottlieb is crazy about beasts, and he got hold 
of her and coddled her and screamed like all 
possessed if I so much as laid a finger on her, and 
father says, ‘The cat shall be Gottlieb’s, and you, 
Johann, do not meddle with her.’ So there it was, 
Gottlieb had his own way, as he always does. But 
you never see anything pick up as Pillitz did. 


JOHANNES CONFIDENCES. 


35 


She grew to be a sleek large cat with four white 
mittens and a white spot on her nose, and she 
followed Gottlieb everywhere and caught mice like 
a witch ; and father made her a red collar. She 
never liked my raven, Klaus, and he never liked 
her, but he was wise enough to let her alone. 

“ So, then, day before yesterday, father was 
away with a load of flour and it was no fun alone 
in the mill. Pillitz walked in, purring and nosing 
among the bags, and by-and-by she sat down to 
wash her face in the sun. I saw Bull, our brown 
dog, — you saw him when you came, and I can 
tell you not to be too free with him at first, — and 
thinks I, Here ’s fun ! He was asleep with his 
nose on his paws, and I caught up Pillitz and 
carried her over where he lay and drew her claws 
over his coat. 

Ah, it was too good ! Up he springs, his 
teeth showing and his hair standing up around 
him, growling and ready to shake Pillitz to a rag ! 
And Pillitz hissed, and spit and humped well as 
she was able, with me holding her fast, and then 
the next minute she turned on me and did this. 
There, see ! ” 

He held out his freckled right hand, showing an 
angry red scratch from the knuckle to the wrist. 


36 


BY A S TRANCE FA TH. 


“ I let her go in a hurry, I can tell you. But not 
even a cat is going to get the best of me. ^ Come,’ 
said I, ‘you have fixed yourself, Pillitz ; there’s 
no sport for me in being scratched.’ 

“ Yesterday after dinner was my time. Father 
was in the vineyard. Gottlieb was with the grand- 
mother, cutting grass for the cows. I carried a 
knddel slyly away from the dinner-table, for Pil- 
litz was crazy for them. 

“There she was in the yard, sound asleep in 
the wagon, curled up on the seat like a ball. I 
coaxed her with the dumpling, stroked her till she 
purred, and carried her round to the race. I had 
cord and stone in my pocket, and I tied it on her 
neck. She put her one paw up on my breast and 
half-shut her eyes. ‘Pretty Pillitz,’ I said, ‘if 
you had not scratched me, I would let you go.’ I 
held her over the water ; she struggled, and her 
eyes were like coals. Then I dropped her. I 
nearly tumbled after for laughing, she clawed the 
air so, and looked wild as a hawk. Then she went 
under with a thud, there were a few bubbles and 
all was still. So there she is at the bottom of 
the race, and all the family wondering where 
she has taken herself, and Gottlieb, fool that he is, 
asking every one he sees, ‘ Where is my Pillitz V 


JOHANNES CONFIDENCES. 


37 


Johann leaned forward with excited, triumphant 
eyes. How are those for clever tricks, cousin 
Paul ? ” 

Paul slowly turned his face upon him. An 
angry, scornful glitter in his luminous eyes struck 
the boasting youth. It was a look such as Johann 
had never had fixed upon him before. There was 
a prophetic foreboding in his soul that after all 
this new cousin might not be of his kind. He 
looked away with a blustering air, but presently, 
as if fascinated, was constrained to meet again 
that indignant, wondering gaze. 

“What do you look at me for, that way.^” he 
said, baffled and unable to restrain his growing 
wrath. 

“Because you are selfishly brutal,” said Paul, 
unable to contain himself longer, “to injure a 
poor old woman, and kill a harmless animal, and 
then boast of it. For shame ! ” 

Johann’s jaw dropped in amazement, his face 
flushed a dull mahogany color, his bead-like eyes 
fell. He was suffering from a distinctly new 
emotion, that of angry humiliation. Somehow, 
he had not a word to say ; he could not even con- 
jure a careless, disdainful smile into his face. He 
dug his blunt fingers into the loamy ground ; there 


38 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


was a blank, dull surprise in his soul, and a pulsing, 
angry resentment. Who and what was this other 
boy that he should withhold from him sympathy 
and admiration, and set vibrating in his heart this 
mysterious shame } 

Paul had turned away with a gesture of scorn ; 
then his eyes brightened as he saw Werner coming 
towards them. He rose and hurried to meet his 
friend, while Johann looked after his lithe figure, 
sullen anger in his glance. “ I hate him ! ” he 
said. “ Good heavens ! has he got to live under 
our roof.!* i shall make it hot for him. That I 
certainly will.” 

“My dear Paul,” said the journeyman, “ I must 
now be going. I have fulfilled my promise to 
your good mother, and leave you with your 
friends. Your uncle is an excellent man, and 
they will all take a deep interest in you. I shall 
miss you greatly, for I feel to you like a brother. 
Indeed, I hate to part.” 

He hastily stretched forth his strong, warm 
hands to clasp Paul’s ; there were tears in his 
eyes ; his dark cheek flushed with unwonted color. 

Paul’s face was smitten with a pitiful look. The 
one link that bound him to his old life was being 
severed, so far behind him seemed that life now. 


JOHANNES CONFIDENCES, 


39 


so new and strange the one on which he had 
entered. He clung convulsively to his good 
friend, his young form throbbing with sorrow. I 
can not bear it,” he said. Werner, after a few 
moments, gently unclasped the clinging arms. 

“ Good-by, my Paul ; it comforts me that I leave 
you with friends. You are young, and youth does 
not cherish sorrow. Be calm; you have always 
been brave. You have had excellent parents ; 
follow their precepts.” Then he took Paul in his 
arms, holding him for a moment to his heart. 
‘‘Good-by, and the good God have you in his 
keeping.” Then he turned and walked away with 
long, swinging strides. “Good-by to those one 
loves wrenches the heart,” he thought, “ but alas ! 
on earth we meet only to part.” 

Then the honest fellow tried to whistle a ga- 
votte, but failed lamentably. 


CHAPTER III. 


EARLY DAYS. 


HE Herr Pastor Rast, Paul’s father, was a 



Christian gentleman and scholar. He had 
the nature of a poet, the charity of a Christian, 
and the humility of a repentant and pardoned 
sinner. If there can be error in generosity, cavil 
might have been made that he gave too freely of 
himself and his limited means to his fellows ; also, 
that, in his imputing to every one their best, he 
was sometimes deceived by selfish cunning and 
hypocrisy. But be that as it may, to every sad- 
dened, suffering heart that sought, or was discov- 
ered by him, his love and charity were ungrudg- 
ingly given. “The good pastor,” was the name 
emphatically applied to him. 

The home of such a man must necessarily be 
the abode of peace and contentment, and here 
reigned the lovely, winning wife Barbara, queen 
of his heart and mother of his Paul, who, bright, 
beautiful child that he was, would have graced a 
palace. 


40 


EA/^L Y DA YS. 


41 


The good pastor’s nature was emphatically and 
perennially youthful, and therefore he was the 
beloved companion as well as guardian of his 
child. He shared his sports, listened to his 
unchecked confidences, and sowed vital truths 
from his earliest years in the virgin soil of his 
soul. So that as the little one developed his 
powers he developed them Godward, as the flower 
turns to the sun. 

My boy’s soul is the choice garden-plot which 
the Master entrusts to my keeping,” said the 
pastor. “ I must diligently plant the good seed 
and uproot the weeds that hasten to grow in the 
fairest soil. I must water it continually with the 
dews of prayer, beseeching the sunshine of God’s 
grace upon it. Alas ! what am I that such a 
glorious and solemn trust is given into my 
keeping ! ” 

Under such Christian training, Paul became a 
gentle, manly. God-fearing boy ; not a goody-goody, 
precocious weakling, dominated by self, but one 
whose actions were the outgrowth of ingrained re- 
ligious principle. His father was his only teacher, 
and, happily for the boy, he was one of those 
rather rare preceptors who have the happy faculty 
of taking the dry bones of knowledge and endow- 


42 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


ing them with vitality and beauty. He was a man 
who was interested in all that is interesting, care- 
fully studied animated nature and noted discrim- 
inatingly everything he saw. Under his enthusias- 
tic and loving tuition, Paul developed admirably 
his fine mental powers and formed habits of 
accurate attention and independent reasoning. 

“ Our boy promises well,” said the father 
proudly. Some of these days we will see him in 
the University, Barbara. Then will we need 
humility, for already I fear my pride is too great 
in his attainments.” 

“ Thy pride, my beloved ! ” said Barbara. 
“ Never yet have I known thy pride, but I see 
always thy sweet humility.” 

The young pastor laughingly covered his ears. 

Now, indeed, thou makest my pride to wax gross, 
my sweetest. Ah, my little Paul, come thither 
and read a lecture to this beautiful little mother 
who rates us too highly because we are hers.” 

Oh, those dear, idyllic days of Paul’s childhood, 
when his home was his world and he craved 
nothing beyond it ! 

There were two Scotch firs beside the rough 
stones of the wall ; there were roses and pansies 
and sunflowers and lavender adown the path, and 


£A/^L V DA YS. 


43 


beside the door-stone grew a large elder-bush, and 
nesting upon the north chimney were two digni- 
fied storks, who looked solemnly at the pretty 
child who never molested them, but studied their 
ways so accurately that he felt quite able to divine 
their motives and prophesy their acts. 

“ Tell me, O wise storks, what you see in the 
beautiful South-land when you fly far from us ” 
pleaded the child eagerly. 

And the wise stork, listening, winked his left 
eye to his mate on her nest, as much as to say : 
“This child knows enough about us already; Jet 
us keep to ourselves a few family secrets.” 

And when the weather grew colder and gray 
clouds brooded in the sky and the storks winged 
their way southward with their young ; when 
warmth and color slowly faded from the landscape 
and the leafless bushes swayed in the wind ; when 
butterfly and insect and birds were gone, and the 
snow, from occasional premonitory flurries, gave 
way to settled storms that beat against the small- 
paned windows whilst the thick, white snow-shroud 
obliterated landmarks, — then came the cozy, happy 
hours by the fireside, the helping the mother in 
household tasks, the lessons learned beside the 
polished oaken table, and the sweet security of 


44 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


love and shelter. And in the hours when the gen- 
tle young mother sat knitting, she told him quaint, 
witching stories, to which he listened with flushed 
cheeks and kindling eyes. How he reveled in 
their wealth of gold and ivory and precious stones, 
their spotless lilies, blood-red roses, and waters 
like silver beneath the stars, their kings and 
queens so delightfully gracious and just, their dark 
caverns and sweet-scented gardens, their good 
fairies and mischievous gnomes, their fire-breath- 
ing, scaly dragons, and the true-hearted, manly 
knights with nodding plumes and mailed chargers, 
who always in the end brought truth and right 
to prevail. 

“ See him, the darling ! ” Barbara would cry, 
pausing to kiss his cheek and smooth his shining 
hair. He lives not with us now in the frozen 
north, but in wonderland — the enchanted land 
that is barred to grown people and whose magic 
gates open only to admit the children. I once 
wandered there too, my darling, but now I vainly 
stand without and knock.” 

And so the halcyon days sped by, and then to 
this home of abounding love and peace came the 
grim presence that sooner or later knocks at the 
door of all households, and takes hence precious 


EA/?L V DA YS, 


45 


lives. And how precious was the life he now 
claimed, that of the father and husband ! In minis- 
tering to a friendless, fever-infected family, the 
Herr Pastor contracted the disease and after a few 
days of intense suffering was called higher. 

“ My work on earth is done,” he said, with the 
resignation of the true 'Christian. “Life looked 
lovely to me, my Barbara, to care for thee and my 
precious Paul, to love my fellows, but the precious 
gift must be given back to my God ; ” and then, 
with dimming eyes but glowing faith, he voiced the 
triumphant words of the apostle that have rung 
through the centuries : “ I have fought a good 
fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the 
faith : henceforth there is laid up for me a crown 
of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous 
judge, shall give me at that day : and not to me 
only, but unto all them also that love his appear- 
ing.” And so died one for whose loss the world 
was poorer, and whose memory was a joy. 

“My Paul,” said the mother, “weep not so for 
thy father; rather rejoice that he is at home in 
his P'ather’s house, and that there are also man- 
sions there awaiting us.” 

Brave little Barbara ! Indomitable was the soul 
in her fair, frail body. Nobly she took upon her- 


46 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


self hard labors, and lived to do good and carry 
out her husband’s wishes regarding their boy. But 
one day, as she was standing on a ladder, training 
a vine against the wall, a treacherous rung gave 
way and she fell heavily. From the fall she 
received injuries which developed in time into a 
cancer. Excruciating bodily pain was now her 
portion, but her fortitude and resignation were 
saintly. All her thought was now for her beloved 
Paul. When the grave receives me, my darling,” 
she said, not one remains here in the north who 
is bound to you by ties of relationship. You stand 
alone. But south, in the beautiful valley where I 
was born and lived my happy youth, my good 
brother Johann waits to be a father to my child. 
He is prosperous, he is kind-hearted ; if you love 
and honor him as a father, he will care for and 
aid you. I have poured out my soul to him in a 
letter, and the kind handwerksbiirsche^ our neigh- 
bor’s nephew, will let you journey to him in his 
care. Trust in the ever-living God, my son. 
Honor him and keep his commandments, O my 
precious boy ! ” 

Love, sweeter than ever now, with Death’s 
frost upon it, clung pathetically to its own, un- 
quenched, undying, conquering even the grave. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE FRAU’s TOUCHSTONE. 

I ^"VERY nature has its touchstone, and the 
' Herr Pastor Rast’s orphan son, thus provi- 
dentially brought into her household, proved that 
of the Frau Lydia, the miller’s wife. 

Until this juncture life had gone satisfactorily 
with her. She had been a thrifty, frugal fraulein, 
blessed with good health and a fair modicum of 
good looks. As a wife and mother her thrift and 
frugality increased, and she had scant love or 
care for those not bound to her by home and 
family ties. 

She deemed herself an excellent Christian and 
a keeper of the commandments, but, viewed 
through the unflattering lens of truth, it was dis- 
coverable that the frau’s God was Mammon, and 
her idol her son Johann ; for was he not bone of 
her bone, and flesh of her flesh, her second self ? 
Johann’s traits, mental and physical, were not 
particularly engaging, but the selflsh mother was 
blind to his faults. He had always wanted his 


47 


48 


BV A STRANGE PATH, 


own way and had always had it, if possible. He 
had been a fat, healthy child, quite lacking in deli- 
cate susceptibilities, and with a well-marked dis- 
tinction in his mind between mine and thine from 
a very early period. Mine was something to 'be 
jealously cared for and hoarded ; thine, if desirable, 
was to be obtained by hook or crook. 

He was extremely avaricious for a child, this 
distinct trait in the characters of a long line of 
Pontesegger ancestry coming to the front in him. 
He was cruel, heartlessly cruel, to dependent, help- 
less animals and all things smaller and weaker; 
jealous of favors shown others ; in fact, he tod- 
dled about, a blue-frocked, red-cheeked, arrogant 
small tyrant, and his mother’s selfish blindness 
fostered his unpleasant traits. 

The solemn responsibilities of motherhood had 
never borne heavily upon the Frau Lydia’s soul. 
She had never carried the boy in the arms of 
faith to the One who loves the little ones, and 
said humbly : “ Lord, this child is thine, not mine. 
Thou hast brought him into existence and hast 
committed him to my feeble care. Give me wis- 
dom to train him aright from thy overflowing 
fountain, that I may teach him to do thy will and 
walk in thy ways.” In fact, the frau felt herself 


THE FRAUDS TOUCHSTONE. 


49 


fully adapted, without guidance of any sort, to 
train her child to be an industrious, saving creat- 
ure, and to always take the best of care of 
Number One. 

Everybody looked on the miller’s wife as a 
model house-mother and a light in the commu- 
nity. She was a zealous Lutheran, who was well 
versed in her catechism, and firmly believed that 
the matter of bread and wine in the communion 
remained with the body and blood of Christ ; and 
to thus firmly believe in a doctrine, was it not to 
be positively elected to salvation ? 

If one had told the worthy miller that his 
excellent Lydia served strange gods, he would 
have denied the assertion with all the indignation 
of which he was possible. 

Never was such an excellent creature as she. 
She worked in the house and the fields ; she was 
unexcelled at tending the cattle ; she never wasted 
a kreutzer’s worth ; she mended and remended his 
clothing until it was like Joseph’s coat, many- 
colored ; she cooked to perfection ; she had brought 
him a good dowry ; she was the mother of his 
poor Gottlieb and his excellent Johann. Why, 
she was an admirable woman and an excellent 
Lutheran ! And as angels do not in these later 


50 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


times walk the earth in fleshly guise, one must 
expect a few faults more or less in the men and 
women whom we consort with. 

And now to the frau, so contented in her 
selfish round of duties, had come the touchstone 
that revealed at once the bed-rock of cold hardness 
in her nature. This nephew from Bremen was 
poor and likely to cost them something. Surely, 
he was not needed or wanted ; he was the one 
spoke too many. His mother had taken her 
dowry, and a much too large one too, owing to the 
partiality of the miller’s mother, long ago ; then 
she had gone far north and cast in her lot with 
strangers. Some strange thriftlessness and mis- 
management had been at work in the Rast house- 
hold, for not a gulden had they saved, and mean- 
while they had brought up their child to expect 
an education possible only to the rich. Then, on 
her death-bed, his calculating mother had planned 
to throw him upon his uncle’s charity. All the 
selfish instincts of the Frau Lydia rose up in 
revolt at having to shelter and provide for him. 
Although she would not confess it to herself, she 
disliked him intensely because of his physical 
superiority to her idol. Johann was short, squat, 
and clumsy ; Paul was tall for his age and finely 


THE FRAU'S TOUCHSTONE. 


51 


formed. Johann’s complexion was pasty and pim- 
pled ; Paul’s skin was fair and clear, with the rich 
blood mantling his smooth cheeks. Johann’s 
small, light-blue eyes were unmistakably crafty in 
expression, while Paul’s large, liquid brown ones 
looked frankly from beneath dark, level brows. 
Johann’s mouth was coarse and his thick lips pro- 
jected, while Paul’s was a veritable Cupid’s bow, 
with delicate, flexible lips that parted to show 
two rows of dazzlingly white teeth. Johann’s 
utterance was thick and uncultured, while Paul 
spoke in a well-modulated voice with ease and 
fluency. Not to have noticed the contrast between 
the two would have been to be fatuitously blind. 
The Frau Lydia did notice, and hated the new- 
comer accordingly. 

Paul was a stuck-up popinjay, the vain child of 
foolish parents ; his good looks showed him to be 
vain and deceitful and he needed to be lowered 
many pegs in his own estimation. One could 
know nothing of people born and bred in distant 
places. One must never take them on trust, but 
wait cautiously for heinous developments. 

Grandmother Pontesegger shared to the full her 
daughter’s feelings towards the intruder. 

Ach ! we do not want him,” she cried shrilly. 


52 


BY A STRANGE PA TFT. 


“ Our bite and sup is no more than sufficient for 
ourselves. The patrimony of our children was 
not gathered kreutzer by kreutzer to be squan- 
dered on the improvident. I toil only for my own 
blood, not for that of the stranger. We have our 
own Gottlieb and Johann. So their bread is to be 
put in others’ mouths, their garments on others’ 
backs ! Show me the justice of it. Let each 
care for their own ; that is the just way. But son 
Hartmann is like a rock when he once sets his 
head. This is his sister’s child ; there he sticks 
fast, and for the present we must submit.” 

I can not bear this beggarly new cousin ! ” 
cried Johann angrily, his face aflame, his small 
eyes glittering angrily. “ He holds himself too 
high. He thinks himself cock of the roost. I 
shall teach him a lesson. I will have none of his 
airs and graces. I ’ll make him eat humble-pie 
yet. This is my father’s house and I will teach 
him that he must walk softly. I hate him, the 
coxcomb, the upstart ! ” 

The Frau Lydia looked at Johann with motherly 
fondness. “ Let him see that you are master, my 
son. It is a truth he will be wise to learn. Alack- 
aday ! we are well saddled with him and no mis- 
take, Here we have been always happy, and 


THE FRAU'S TOUCHSTONE. 


53 


now this strange lad brings trouble with him at 
once. I can not put him out of my mind. My 
heart is like lead in my bosom, thinking. I wish 
I could toss him out of our lives as I toss this 
feather away ; but alas ! the wind drives it back in 
my face. So I fear he is fastened on us without 
help. Alas ! alas ! that we should be made 
miserable ! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


A BONE OF CONTENTION. 

S O, my good Johann, you see no way out of 
having this burden to weight our backs,” 
said the miller’s wife to her husband. 

He looked at her with evident consternation. 
“ Mein Gott, wife, where should the poor lad go, if 
not to me ? He is alone in the world, and Bar- 
bara has given him to be as a son to us.” 

“ A gift that cost her nothing and is too costly 
for poor folks to receive. Think of our saving 
nothing, throw’ng money out of the windows, and 
then giving our Johann to some one to eat tljpir 
food and wear clothes their money bought ! Look 
at it that way, Johann ; ” and she placed her arms 
akimbo and looked triumphantly in his eyes. 

He shifted uneasily. He was too astute not to 
have seen already that his sister’s son was likely 
to prove a bone of contention. “ Surely, he is a 
well-grown, healthy lad, wife, and I am already 
getting him well in harness. You often have said 
how fortunate neighbor Schmucke is in having 

H 


A BONE OF CONTENTION. 


55 


six strong boys who can work, and each one add 
to the income. Now we have three sons, and the 
third is no idler.” 

“But did his mother send him here to be a 
helper } Did she not write to you and did I not 
read it with my own eyes : ‘ My desire is that my 
boy may have a University education ’ ? At least, 
it meant that, if I do not say the words rightly. 
And now, say I, who is expected to pay for the 
making a scholar of him ? Are you ? Have you 
ever spent money to make your own flesh and 
blood a scholar ? Are we to make ourselves poor 
to do unheard-of things for a beggar.? Your 
sister would marry the poor Herr Pastor. As she 
made her bed, so should she have been satisfied 
to lie in it.” 

The miller sighed. To tell the truth, Barbara’s 
marriage had not been at all as he would have had 
it. She had been the prettiest and sweetest girl 
in the valley, and had had a choice of suitors. 
Rudolph Reuss, the well-to-do baur three miles up 
the stream, had been greatly smitten with her 
charms, and had been urgent that she should 
become his wife. But no ; she was foolish and 
obstinate, as maidens often are, and took the poor 
pastor. And now, how had things turned out? 


56 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


Rudolph, long since married to Fraulein Maria 
Schmucke, had gone on prospering greatly. He 
had ten acres of land, three forest rights, a good 
house, and four fine boys. Then he had the six 
sleekest cows around, to say nothing of the big 
black bull, that though it looked so fierce was as 
gentle as a kitten. And as for Barbara and her 
husband, they were dead in poverty both of them, 
and left behind them a poor lad without a kreutzer 
of patrimony. 

The miller thought it over as he looked with 
unseeing eyes at a pile of bags in the corner; 
then he drummed with his blunt fingers on the 
polished oaken table. “You worry without a cause, 
good wife. I have no thought of giving more 
learning to my sister’s son. Had she been 
Rudolph’s wife now, what care need we to have 
shown her children } But she was not, and no 
more need be said. She had herself to thank for 
much that happened. She wanted no advice and 
followed her own counsels. We, meanwhile, have 
thrived because of our united labor and prudence. 
We have worked early and late, minded our own 
business, meddling little with our neighbors, and 
have improved greatly our property. We have 
saved a f^w gulden, and for all this are honored 


A BONE OF CONTENTION. 


57 


by our neighbors. And by-and-by, when we die, as 
all must, our coffins will be covered with garlands, 
and we will be buried in the friedhof beside our 
fathers, while our excellent Johann will plant 
flowers on our graves to the memory of his good 
parents.” 

Quite overcome by this prospect, the miller 
paused to wipe the tears from his eyes and think 
over the beautiful picture of filial devotion. The 
Frau Lydia also was melted to tears, and nodded 
her head emphatically. 

“Too much learning is a foolish and unsettling 
thing,” the miller began, after his emotion had 
calmed and a new train of thought had evolved 
itself in his mind. “To be able to read and keep 
one’s affairs straight, to divide and add and sub- 
tract, pray, what more is needed ? Did Adam 
and Eve have great schools in the garden of 
Eden ? Was not Adam put there to dress the 
ground and keep matters in order, and had he 
been taught in a University ? I ask you now. 
See ! ” bringing his fat hand heavily down on his 
knee and surprising the white cat, the successor 
of poor Pillitz, who had curled herself on his lap, 
and now jumped off, scuttling away as if destruc- 
tion were behind her. “ See, I say ; is it not always 


58 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


the scholars who are upsetting the world, and 
splitting hairs, and wrangling over trifles ? They 
are always trying to make men leave the good old 
paths their fathers found good enough, and walk 
in new ways. Men have lost their heads by 
knowing too much, but no one ever came to grief 
by knowing too little. When Eve wanted to be 
wise as the good God, what happened ? Did she 
not find herself thrust out with Adam, with a 
flaming sword keeping her from going back as 
long as she lived.? Am I not speaking truth.?” 
He looked for assent to his listening wife, and she 
nodded her head with gravity. He settled him- 
self more easily in his chair, brushed away a too 
friendly fly, and glanced serenely out at the heavily 
sleeping sunshine. 

“Yes, my poor, unfortunate sister sent me her 
son,” he continued presently. “ This was a wise 
act on her part, as he is alone and poor. I shall 
therefore deal with him in all justness as if he 
were ours.” 

“Yours,” interpolated his wife, “not mine.” 

But he did not heed the correction. 

“ I have begun from the second day of his 
coming to teach him all manner of work, that he 
may know to do all things well. I find him gentle. 


A BONE OF CONTENTION. 


59 


obedient, attentive, and anxious to please. He 
never shirks any task I set him ; he fulfils his 
stent without grumbling ; he has not to be told 
how twice. I shall have no longer to hire on busy 
days long-armed Hans or Kattle the mountain 
maid. So there, you see at once, is saving. 
Instead of our being the losers, we shall be 
gainers. Therefore content yourself, good wife. 
The lad shall have no more of the schools ; he has 
too much for his own good already. But I must go 
into the mill. Fret no more, my excellent Lydia; 
let thy kind heart see good in the lad, and let no 
clouds mar our sunshine. Let us enjoy life and 
pray God to lengthen our days.” And satisfied 
that his eloquence and wisdom had ameliorated 
matters, he playfully patted her fleshy cheek, and 
betook himself to his duties. But alas ! if he 
thought all selfishness and discomfort exorcised, 
he was rudely brought to a better knowledge of 
matters within a couple of hours, for at the end of 
that time the Frau Lydia appeared in the mill, 
violently red as to color, panting as to breath, and 
with dangerously flashing eyes. 

That you shall punish that Bremen beggar is 
my command.” 

At these words, spoken in implacable tones, he 


6o 


jBV A STJ^AJVGE PATH. 


felt a chill creeping down his spine. “ Why, my 
good wife, you are disturbed, much disturbed. 
Here, sit down on these bags and let us talk over 
your troubles. What has gone wrong } ” 

She scorned to take the seat and make herself 
comfortable. 

Yes, I have much to tell that has gone wrong. 
I sent them to strip the lower leaves of the dick- 
riiben for the cows, Paul and Johann. I was near, 
busied with the cabbages ; then I heard quarrel- 
ing. ‘ You certainly are a liar.’ I heard Paul say 
this loudly to our Johann. 

“At this, Johann screamed in anger, as well he 
might, and I hurried to make one of them. My 
blood boiled. Such words to our son ! ‘ Do you 

call my Johann ill names, you viper ? ’ said I, 
soundly boxing his ears. ‘ Let this be the begin- 
ning and ending of it all.’ What do you think.? 
He seemed choking, and his eyes were like flames. 
^ Aunt Lydia,’ he said, and his voice was hoarse as 
if it stuck in his throat, ‘Johann does lie.’ 

“This to me, Johann’s mother! I boxed him 
harder than ever ; then, so ready was I to cry with 
vexation, I brought Johann away. Poor Johann, 
he is angry enough to burst a blood-vessel, and I 
have hurried to you. You now must take a good 


A BONE OF CONTENTION. 6 1 

cudgel and teach the wretched lad not to speak 
evil of his benefactors. Ah, the insolent, wicked 
wretch ! ” And fairly exasperated to tears, the 
frau wept into her blue-check apron. 

The miller disliked profoundly the sight of a 
weeping woman. It troubled and exasperated him 
both. “ There ! there ! Lydia. I shall talk to 
this insolent lad ” — 

“ But talking is not enough ! I wish him 
punished.” 

“ There ! there ! be reasonable, my wife. I will 
at once go to him. Alas ! alas ! this is a world of 
trouble. But rest easy ; I shall settle matters to 
your satisfaction.” 

But to settle matters to her satisfaction he 
found to be no easy thing. On investigation, as 
a purely just man, he found that Johann had 
cruelly taunted his cousin and held his parents up 
to obloquy ; therefore, to punish Paul for hasty 
words spoken in righteous anger did not tally with 
his convictions of right. 

Paul was submissively gentle to his uncle, and 
owned that he had spoken in wrath. His frank- 
ness drew the worthy man’s heart towards him. 

I fear much at times that you are not as con- 
tented with us as I desire you to be, my son,” he 


62 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


said kindly. I pray you to be contented and 
happy. We are your friends and wish you well. 
Your aunt is an excellent woman. You are not 
yet fully acquainted with her, but I, who have 
lived with her for years, know her virtues. To 
her I insist that you always be respectful and 
obedient. To Gottlieb no one can be better than 
you are ; your patience with him is great. I 
watched carefully to see if you teased or vexed 
him, and I find you are as gentle with him as if 
he were a helpless child. This pleases me, for 
though he is weak in mind, I still love my poor 
Gottlieb. But you and Johann fly apart. I see 
black looks between you, and it troubles me, for I 
desire above all things to see you brotherly. Is 
there not want of forbearance on both sides } 
Is it not the hasty word, to be followed by the 
hasty blow ? Bear with one another ; make your 
interests the same ; let each one in honor prefer 
the other. You are industrious and faithful,” 
continued the miller, patting Paul’s shoulder. “I 
look to see you grow up to be an excellent farmer 
and a great help. As you grow older you can 
hire out, and if you are saving as you should be, 
you can lay by a few gulden. I will then look to 
it that you marry a healthy, able fraulein with a 


A BONE OF CONTENTION 


63 


dowry, and then you might settle, say on a little 
farm near Heidelberg, keep a couple of cows, some 
pigs and chickens, smoke your pipe in peace as an 
honest and virtuous citizen, and give to the state 
a fine family. Would not such a prospect please 
much your good mother, who wished above all that 
you should be rightly trained, and desired me to 
do by you as I would with my own children ? The 
learning on which you so vainly pride yourself, 
and of which you desire more, is an impossibility 
for one who is, like you, the descendant of simple 
peasants. You have enough and more than 
enough. I have no sympathy with your desires 
for more book knowledge. These desires you 
must drop at once. And now I will say no more. 
I think we understand one another.” 

And then the miller turned away with satisfac- 
tion upon his features. He felt that he had talked 
plainly and to the purpose, and that hereafter 
matters would go more smoothly. 


CHAPTER VL 


THE MOUNTAIN WITCH. 

/^^NE Sunday afternoon, as Paul was taking a 
solitary walk, Gottlieb having been peremp- 
torily forbidden to accompany him because of a 
perverse whim of the Frau Lydia, he followed a 
narrow stony path up the mountain side and came 
upon a lonely hut. It was quite hidden among 
the trees, and no stir of life was visible. About 
the old walls and door rose-bushes twined, and 
there was a tolerably kept garden to one side. 
Some lilac-bushes grew wild ; delicious odors were 
exhaled by the poplars and young larches ; sunshine 
dappled the grasses as the leaves and branches 
swayed in the soft breeze. Paul looked at the 
ragged eaves, green with mosses, and the old 
well, tinted with sun-gleams. He was thirsty and 
at present desirous of nothing so much as a 
draught of cool, limpid water. “ If any one is at 
home, they will certainly lend me a cup,” he said, 
going to the door and knocking. 

A deep growl was heard inside and an indistinct 


64 


THE MOUNTAIN WITCH. 


65 


grumbling, and presently the door was opened, 
and a tall, grizzled, hard-featured old woman clad 
in scanty, faded garments, barefooted and bare- 
legged, stood on the threshold, a big red dog close 
beside her, uttering low and portentous growls. 

It must be Johann’s mountain witch,” thought 
Paul. 

“Well,” said she peremptorily, “why are you 
here } What do you want } ” 

Paul, who had courteously doffed his cap as if 
the old woman were a princess, proffered his 
request for the loan of a cup. 

The witch looked at him with evident curiosity 
and ill-favor. Poor creature, shunned, feared, and 
despised by the ignorant peasants for years, it 
seemed that every man’s hand had been against 
her, and her hand against every man. She was 
cursed, maligned, ostracized. Her history was a 
riddle. Twenty years before she had come alone 
to the mountain. She had no relatives in the 
community, and, as she shunned companionship, 
she found no friends. She seemed to touch and 
hold to nothing human ; she wandered in the 
mountains, gathered herbs, domesticated strange 
pets. Strange stories were circulated of her un- 
canny practices and powers. No one strove to 


66 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


act upon her through her interest or well-being. 
In all God’s earth she was friendless. 

Paul construed her silence into dislike at having 
been troubled. His charming smile lit up his 
countenance, his sparkling eyes were open and 
ingenuous. “ I am sorry, good grandmother, to 
have disturbed you, but I am so thirsty ! No, old 
fellow, do not growl ; let us be friendly. You are 
a fine one; come to me.” He patted his knee 
invitingly, his voice was gentle and coaxing as he 
addressed the brute, who was really a noble and 
sagacious animal, albeit he had been soured by ill- 
treatment and constant persecutions from grace- 
less youths, when he went abroad at his mistress’ 
heels. He now looked fixedly at Paul, ceased his 
growls and wagged his tail slightly. 

“ Good fellow,” said the lad, stroking his soft 
ears lightly. The dog leaped on him, put his 
paws on his breast, and then, all the genial current 
of his brute nature seemingly aroused, he ran 
out-of-doors, describing with wonderful swiftness 
immense circles and narrowing them by degrees, 
until, panting and tired, he stopped with several 
short, sharp barks beside Paul and thrust his cold 
nose into his hand. 

Paul laughed in boyish abandon at these unex- 


THE MOUNTAIN WITCH 67 

pected gambols, and fondled the brute. “Well 
done ! ” he said. 

The old woman, who had been watching her 
dog’s maneuvers in astonishment, now approach- 
ing a shelf near the door, took from it a large 
wooden ladle for dipping up water. 

“There, get you a drink.” 

Thanking her, and closely followed by his new 
friend, Paul went to the well and drank. He 
gazed down into the cool depths ; his face looked 
up at him as from a mirror. “ O Paul,” he said, 
tossing back from his forehead the clustering 
masses of hair, “ what a deliciously cool bath you 
are taking down there ! ” 

He returned the ladle to the old woman, who 
still stood on the threshold. “ Thank you kindly, 
grandmother. What a pretty nest you have here, 
like a bird on its eyrie ! The valley is a mosaic 
beneath you, the sky and stars are near, and how 
thrifty your bushes are ! ” 

“ Are you afraid of nothing } ” said the old 
woman harshly. “ I am the mountain witch ! ” 
“ But I have no faith in witches, grandmother, 
and why should I fear you } You have done me a 
kindness. Are you alone here, and is your garden 
the work of your own hands } Perhaps some day 


68 


BY A STBANGE PATH. 


I might help you in some way. I could cut up 
that pile of fagots for you.” 

She stared at him blankly, then laughed, a 
mirthless laugh. “ Why should you want to cut 
my wood.? You will get not a kreutzer from 
me.” 

“I do not want your kreutzers, grandmother. 
I only thought you were old and alone, and some- 
time when I had time I could help you in little 
ways.” 

“ Come here. Bull ! ” said the woman, calling the 
dog, which came obediently. “ Lie down here, sir. 
What lad are you .? ” 

“ I am Paul Rast from Bremen, the miller Hart- 
mann’s nephew. I have only been in the valley a 
few weeks.” 

“You are of bad stock,” she said shortly. 
“The miller’s son is a wretch, a devil. You had 
better go.” She went in and shut the door, and 
Paul, feeling he had no right to loiter about her 
hut, departed as he was bidden. 

An odd desire to really make friends with 
the old solitary drew him that way some days 
later. The house was silent ; there were no signs 
of life about. The pile of fagots was still there 
and a dull axe lay on the ground beside it. “I 


THE MOUNTAIN WITCH. 


69 


will split her wood ; she will think it witchcraft 
sure,” he said, taking up the axe and attacking 
the gnarled and knotty wood with spirit. The 
echoes rang to the blows of the axe. He threw 
aside his blouse and whistled cheerily at his self- 
imposed task. “ There ! ” he said, at the end of an 
hour, looking with pride at the result of his labor. 
There was a crackling of the bushes, a bark, joy- 
ful and recognizant, and there was the witch’s 
dog leaping upon him, licking his face and hands, 
and apparently beside himself with joy. 

“ Well,” said Paul, who had been nearly pros- 
trated by the friendly assault, “ once a friend, 
always a friend, eh } Good fellow ! ” 

Out of the woods came the old woman, a basket 
of herbs on her arm. She looked at the dog, the 
lad, and the wood. 

“Who told you to cut my wood.? You are at 
work for the sake of working, eh .? ” 

“ Not exactly. It was for your sake, grand- 
mother.” 

Her next movement was entirely unexpected. 
She approached him, holding out her hand. 

“ Come, give me your hand. My dog has faith 
in you ; he is my only friend.” 

Paul silently did as she requested, and the flex- 


70 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


ible young hand lay in the clasp of the knotted 
and wrinkled one. 

“ I do not understand it myself,” she said, 
rather to herself than him. “ It is the first time I 
have clasped hands in friendship for a score of 
years. But, my lad, nothing ever prospered with 
me. My friendship will do you harm in the eyes 
of others.” 

“ I care nothing for the eyes of others,” said 
Paul impetuously. “ If it is a crime to be kind 
to the old and friendless, then let me be a crim- 
inal.” 

She shook her head sadly. “ Perhaps I too can 
do something for you, my lad ; if you like, I can 
teach you much about plants and herbs and 
flowers. They are my friends, my comforts ; I 
learn their secrets ; I find their haunts. Old as I 
am, I am spry as youth and I can still follow at 
the tail of a chamois. I love the rocks, the 
woods, the mountains. When the sap rises in 
the spring I can no longer keep quiet. The 
briers may tear my skirts, but the stones can not 
hurt my feet, for they are hard as horn.” 

“ And I too love the mountains and flowers, 
and you shall teach me much about them, grand- 
mother. When my uncle gives me permission to 
have holidays, then I will come.” 


THE MOUNTAIN WITCH 


71 


But Paul’s holidays were not many. “ The life 
of idlers is costly,” said the miller, “and my sons 
must labor diligently, for it is the hand of the dili- 
gent alone that maketh rich.” Under his faithful 
oversight Paul learned much about farming, and 
his work was a panacea, a blessing. In the open 
fields and in the sunlight he was toned up in mind 
and body ; morbid vapors were dissipated ; he 
became more cheerful and hopeful. 

So the summer passed and autumn came with 
its ingatherings, its vintage, its days of apple-wine 
making, when Johann, Paul, and Gottlieb roiled 
the mill-stone on its long axle over the ruddy- 
cheeked fruit which heaped the long oaken trough. 
There were excursions to the woods, to rake up 
and bring home leaves to serve as bedding for the 
cattle, and gather fir-cones with which to light the 
winter fires. And with the coming of winter 
work did not cease, for then manure had to be 
carted to the fields and wood brought on sledges 
from the mountains, that it might be chopped, 
dried, and stored up. In the early spring, while 
the frost yet lasted, the fruit-trees had to be 
pruned. “Everything in its season,” said the 
miller; “that is the secret of success.” 

But gradually, as by magic, came greenness of 


72 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


meadows and odors of violets. The fields were 
brown with the spring plowing ; the unfettered 
cascade leaped gayly down the hill-side ; the sweet 
naphew fields were yellow, and pink and white 
blooms made fairyland of the orchards. Storks 
winged their way to their old quarters and larks 
soared in the blue. Spring, coy, coquettish, en- 
trancing, had seized the scepter and reigned right 
royally. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE LOST GULDENS. 

"N TOW that spring was really here, the old Frau 
^ Pontesegger was happy. To be housed up 
was distasteful to her. Besides, she felt that the 
earth had rested long enough ; it was time for it 
to be producing for humanity. Her health was 
robust, despite her seventy-five years. Brown 
and wrinkled as a shriveled russet apple, but 
straight as an arrow, she had no intention of dying 
because she had lived man’s allotted span. She 
was struck with pity at the thought of the miller’s 
family bereft of her care, her oversight that noth- 
ing went to waste, her labors. She got up the 
first and went to bed the last, she helped to pre- 
pare the food, she cut grass for the cattle, she 
dressed the vines, she spaded the ground like a 
man, she spun, she wove, she fed the pigs, she 
made cheeses, she knitted, she displayed a bound- 
less energy. Old Mother Mariott, who was eighty 
and a cripple, and who had seen one after another 
of her earthly treasures laid in the silent grave, 


73 


74 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


and who looked eagerly towards another and a 
better land, said to her one day when the two met 
in the Lutheran church in the dorf: ‘‘Ah, my 
friend, time slips swiftly away from us, does it not ? 
But it brings us nearer a City where we shall be 
no more pilgrims and strangers ; where toil and 
sickness and wrenchings of the heart shall be no 
more ; where our fleshly, worn tabernacles shall no 
more burden us ; where our souls, freed from the 
temptations of sin, will wage no more battles. 
Ah, beautiful thought ! Are you not happy in the 
prospect ? ” 

Old Frau Pontesegger gave the questioner an 
indefinable look. There was something incon- 
ceivably horrible to her in the mere idea of leav- 
ing her earthly treasures. She craved no celestial 
atmosphere, no company of white-robed seraphs, 
no naked soul, no immediate presence of the 
Christ. 

This was a good world, a fair world ; her soul 
roots struck down deeply into it. She felt herself 
no pilgrim nor a stranger. She unconsciously held 
herself in some sort as one exempt from near- 
by death. Her spiritual desires were insignifi- 
cant compared with her secular ones. She was 
very contented in her fleshly tabernacle and failed 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


75 


entirely to enter into Mother Mariott’s views. 
Labor had brought money ; money was really the 
one thing necessary for happiness. Keep on mak- 
ing and saving money ; this was her gospel. 

“ I have good children, good health, and a good 
home ; why should I wish to go away from them } 
I am satisfied as I am,” was her answer to her 
questioner. 

The good old lady looked downcast, as one 
might who had asked for bread and been given a 
stone. ‘‘But the happiness of being freed from 
sin,” she persisted gently. 

“ As for sin, I feel that I am no worse than my 
neighbors,” said the Frau Pontesegger shortly; 
and after that the old woman was dumb. 

The frau came out shortly after breakfast one 
morning to work in the garden. The family had all 
scattered to their allotted tasks, and this was hers. 
Clad in a blue-stuff petticoat and linen jacket, her 
sleeves turned up on her sinewy, leathery arms, 
her feet unshod, and a broad hat on her grizzled 
locks, she was neither a beautiful nor an inspiring 
object. There was a dim tradition that once she 
had been the prettiest girl for miles around, but if 
ever this had been the case, remorseless Time had 
crushed out and obliterated all traces of beauty. 


76 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


She was pitted with small-pox ; her chin was gro- 
tesquely prominent, and her nose curved to meet 
it ; her hair was not that lovely, silvery white one 
loves to see crowning aged heads, but a dead 
yellowish-gray ; her eyes were sunken and cold in 
their glance, and a tufted mole was prominent on 
her left cheek. Her nature was of iron,” her 
neighbors said. She disturbed no one outside her 
own home, but she also cared nothing for them. 
“She is a clever one, the old Frau Pontesegger,” 
was the spoken verdict. “ She is worth both gold 
and silver to the miller.” 

She worked with a will ; the clearness and 
warmth of the day was pleasing to her. Her 
blood did not run as hotly in her veins as it once 
did, and the sunshine was grateful. The garden 
was laid out with three parallel walks bordered 
with box, and at the north end were rows of 
thrifty raspberry-bushes. Not a weed was to be 
seen in the black soil, and the young vegetables 
thus kindly cared for were growing luxuriantly. 
Two beautiful mountain-ash trees on the west 
side rustled their leaves in the soft breeze that 
was a caress as it rippled them. The old woman 
felt that impulse of animal delight that the gross- 
est of humanity experience when nature is a har- 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


77 


mony of sunshine and blended colors and the air 
is exhilarating like a royal elixir. She was fond 
of the moist earth-smell; she delighted to mark 
the growth of the plants. This was all the 
heaven she craved : to work and see fruitful 
results, and reap a profit of golden guldens. Ah, 
the precious guldens ! The day before, son-in-law 
Hartmann had brought home in his wallet ten 
guldens as her share of the cheese and fowls and 
wool he had marketed. 

I have got back from my journey, grand- 
mother,” he said. “ I am hungry, but first, these 
are yours.” 

How she clutched them, the shining coins ! A 
thrill of delight went through her as she felt 
them in her palm. How her heart warmed ! 
Her feet seemed to have wings. 

She brought in soup and black coffee for him. 
Then she went by herself and clinked and counted 
them over. She piled them one on another ; then 
scattered them that she might have the joy of re- 
counting them. 

That was yesterday, and now as she thought of 
them a hot desire clutched her heart to go and 
count them again in secret. She had not yet 
placed them in the oaken chest where she kept 


78 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


her hoard. She had taken them from her with- 
ered bosom this morning, and thrust them in a 
red stocking under her lower feather-bed. She 
must go and get them and lock them up for fear 
some disaster might betide them. The sight of 
them would warm her, fill her with beatific ecstasy. 

Better than the gold of the sunlight, the soft 
kiss of the wind, the fragrance of flowers, would 
be the presence of the gold that was her god. 
Alas, poor soul ! could it be her privilege to enter 
unchanged in heart the New Jerusalem, she would 
not be able to lift her ravished eyes from the 
golden pavements, but would grovel upon them in 
adoring rapture. 

She looked keenly about her. There was no 
human life stirring about her, but she heard the 
dog yawning in the bushes and saw Klaus, the 
raven, hopping down the path. Now for all his 
black coat and his solemnity of demeanor Klaus 
was the epitome of sly cunning and mischief. 
Johann had found him a couple of years before in 
the woods, a disconsolate orphan. The fine old 
tree in which his parents were rearing a promising 
brood was blown down in a terrific storm, and his 
brothers and sisters were killed, but somehow or 
other Klaus had escaped injury. It could not 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


79 


have been because he was the saint of the fam- 
ily, for, if he was the best, we despair to imagine 
the depths of cunning and evil in the breasts of 
the defunct ones. 

Johann favored him because of his wicked pro- 
clivities. He would bite, he would fight, he would 
snatch, he would steal, he would tease ; he would 
do unexpected things in unexpected times and 
places ; he would never give up anything he once 
had taken. He had his ravenish likes and dis- 
likes. He had taken offence at the Frau Lydia 
and often played tricks on her, going so far one 
day as to drop a green, slimy toad down her back. 
He tolerated Johann and despised Gottlieb, but 
seemed to acknowledge some invisible bond be- 
twixt himself and the old Frau Pontesegger, fol- 
lowing her around, sitting on her knee or shoulder, 
and trying to show his affection. It was war to 
the teeth between him and the dog. He stole 
the dog’s bones; he followed him about, and 
chattered angrily at him, and regarded him as a 
mortal enemy. 

Oddly enough, the old grandmother seemed to 
reciprocate the bird’s attachment, and often took 
his part when other members of the family in- 
sisted that he should suffer severe punishments. 


8o 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


Now, seeing him near her, she said, “No, Klaus, 
not in the garden.” 

Klaus croaked lugubriously as he was forced to 
turn about and go back before her. He meant to 
follow the old lady into the house as she entered 
it, but she shoved him back on the threshold, and 
shut the oaken door against his very beak. Then 
indeed was Klaus an offended and injured bird. 
He pecked at the door, ruffled his plumage and 
stood outside, conscious of nothing, now that his 
will was thwarted, but an angry desire to have his 
own way anyhow. 

But indifferent to him, the grandmother passed 
into the living-room. It was very quiet ; the 
clock ticked on its shelf, the cross-bill drowsed on 
its perch, the white cat, sleek and fat, was curled 
up in luxurious repose on the window-sill. She 
looked about her keenly, as if perchance some one 
might be lurking in a corner. Then she went to 
her bed, stooped down and ran her leathery arm 
under its plumpness and brought out a red stock- 
ing. Then she went silently to the polished table, 
turned her treasures out on it, and sat with her 
eyes fixed on them in blissful contemplation. 
Then she rubbed her hands joyously, and tested 
each coin by ringing it. Ah, how beautiful and 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


8l 


precious it was ! It filled her soul ; it was her 
life. How much had it taken to obtain this! 
She carried her accounts in her shrewd, grasping 
brain, and mentally checked off each item : so 
many cheeses, so many fowls, so many feathers — 
ah, to turn things into gold and silver, that was 
wisdom ! And now she would take these ten gul- 
dens to her secret hiding-place, to the little oaken 
chest inside the panel of the chimney cupboard. 

She carried the key on a blue ribbon under her 
chemise. It rested on her withered breast and 
rose and fell with the pulsations of her heart. 
Suddenly the door opened and in came Paul. 
With an impulse of suspicion and fear, the old 
woman made nervous haste to brush the guldens 
back into the stocking. Cold rage was in her 
eyes as she turned them malevolently upon the 
lad, whom she actively disliked. 

‘‘ What are you here for ? ” 

Uncle Johann sent me for a flour-bag that he 
says lies on the settle.” 

Well, get it then ; it is not by me.” 

Paul crossed to the settle ; the bag lay folded 
there as his uncle, had said, and taking it, he 
unfolded and looked it carefully over, to see if 
there were holes in it. 


82 


BY A STBANGE PATH. 


' “ Why don’t you go ? ” said the old woman 

angrily; ‘^do not be all day about it.” Then she 
drew a long breath. How she hated the sight of 
him ! They were taking from Johann to put in 
this fellow’s mouth and on his back. 

Think of the good food, the butter, the flour, 
the eggs, the bits of sugar, he had consumed ! It 
was monstrous, horrible, a crying injustice ! She 
watched carefully at the table to see how often he 
helped himself. She actually trembled with rage 
sometimes when she saw him take the loaf of 
bread and cut off a generous slice. When they 
ate fowls, she saw that the bones that had the 
least on were put upon his plate. He had the 
healthy appetite of an active, growing boy, but 
that appetite was a sword in the heart of the 
grandmother. He ate as if he had a right to 
the food they earned. His presence at the table 
embittered every mouthful. Even when it was a 
good year for fruit, as it had been last season, she 
grudged all he ate as so much taken from the 
pigs. It was a frightful condition of affairs ; her 
avaricious soul was continually bruised. The fig- 
ure of Paul getting profits from them dominated 
everything. “ I have never in my life been so 
troubled,” she said one day to the miller ; “ it is 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


83 


extravagance in us to feed and clothe your 
nephew. If you were to put him somewhere 
now, where we would have no more to trouble 
ourselves about him ! And it would be better for 
him, you see. When one has to do for one’s self 
coddling does him no good. He looks to you — 
leans on you, don’t you see You should think 
of his own good.” 

This anxiety of the grandmother for the lad’s 
good was transparent. It was one of those con- 
venient mantles with which we strive to cover up 
motives. The miller smiled at the dissimulation. 

“Patience, my good mother. At his age he 
needs a home, and he is a smart lad. He turns 
off nearly as much work as a man, and he always 
does exactly as I bid him. I have to do no look- 
ing after him. He certainly earns his victuals, 
and if you could make up your mind to drop this 
worry ” — 

“How does he get along with our Johann .J*” 
broke in the old woman angrily. “ Does it not 
show for itself that he holds himself above him } 

‘ I am the Herr Pastor Rast’s son from Bremen ; ’ 
does he not show that in every act, even if he does 
not choose to say it in words } Do you ever^see 
the two boys talking together or having plans in 


84 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


common ? In my day when young folks were to- 
gether they made merry; but that boy, I have 
seen, simply looks at times as if he did not see 
Johann, even when he sits under his very nose. 
Now, you need n’t tell me he is good to Gottlieb ! 
You say that as if it were a virtue. Gottlieb, 
poor fool ! is his slave. If Paul lifts his finger, he 
runs to do as he bids. When one never contra- 
dicts, there is no virtue in putting up with him. 
I want to hear no more of his goodness to Gott- 
lieb. Yesterday the Herr Pastor came in, and he 
too sung his praises. ‘ He knows his catechism 
so well,’ he said ; but not a word did he speak in 
praise of our Johann, who says his catechism glib 
as you please.” 

“ Well, go on, as I see you ’ve it taken into your 
head to see no good in my nephew,” said the mil- 
ler grumblingly ; “ but, nevertheless, he is my sis- 
ter’s child, and I owe it to her to take thought for 
him.” 

“Very good, very kind, and very just in you ! ” 
said the old woman, trembling with passion. 

“Tut, tut, grandmother,” said the miller, se- 
cretly wearied of her acrimonious talk ; “ who 
would not feel pity for an orphan lad without a 
kreutzer ^ And his mother, she used to follow me 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


85 


around like a kitten. * Let me do this for you, 
dear Johann,’ she would say, or, ‘ Let me help you 
with that.’ She used to sit on my knee with her 
head on my shoulder, and talk of so many things. 
And once, you remember, she saved my life when 
Peter the red bull was just about to kill me. 
Ach ! but he was a tremendous fellow, that bull, 
and we had always thought him so kind, but what 
it was worked him up to a fury that morning I can 
not tell. He was out of his stable in the yard, 
and then, quick as a wink, he had me penned in 
the corner with my back to the wall and not a 
stick even to defend myself. And then, without 
a word, came Barbara flying with the pitchfork to 
save me. ‘ Take courage, brother ! ’ she cried, 
and she thrust the fork in his flank. The bull 
could not stand the pain, you see, and backed out 
and turned to defend himself, but now, what with 
Barbara’s quickness and my being free, we got 
him back in his stable, and once fastened by the 
ring, there was no more trouble. He was killed 
the next fall, and you see what a big one he was, 
for he weighed thirteen hundred pounds ! But it 
was little Barbara who saved my life, with the help 
of the good God. And would I not be a Judas if 
I ever forgot it, and failed to do as she prayed me. 


86 


BVA STRANGE PATH. 


in the letter written on her dying bed, to treat her 
orphan with kindness ? ’’ 

The old frau shrugged her shoulders. The 
story of the bull, often told with unction by her 
son-in-law, had palled on her ears. She, coura- 
geous and hardy, saw no heroism in the young 
girl’s flying to combat and divert the infuriated 
beast, when she had a weapon of defence in her 
hand. Bah ! she was tired to death of the thing. 
The miller made much of little. Barbara had 
taken by far too large a dowry with her when she 
married, and went north where people lived on 
smoked fish and sour cherries, and the fields were 
full of the roughest stones. Moreover, she had 
been guilty in circulating what money she might 
have had and not keeping it in her purse ; and her 
relationship to the prudent miller did not warrant 
her in foisting her half-grown lad upon him. Ah, 
if he had only stayed in the north and never come 
there to be the black drop in her cup ! 

Thus thinking, the frau cast malevolent glances 
on the lad, who was re-rolling the bag. Then she 
made a frightful gesture, clutched at the table in 
vain, and fell forward with frothing lips and purple 
face on the floor. Hardy as she was, the poor 
woman was subject at times to a peculiar fit which 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


87 


attacked her with small warning. They were 
frightful to Paul, who now advanced to give the 
help he was able. His first duty was to lift her 
from off her face, on which she had fallen, and 
unloose her jacket at the shriveled neck. Al- 
though unconscious, she writhed in terrible con- 
tortions, and emitted strange, husky cries. Then, 
presently, he lifted her to her bed, and stood 
beside her until the violence of the attack had 
abated, and she lay with congested, swollen feat- 
ures in what seemed a profound stupor. Then he 
hastily picked up the bag and, leaving the door 
open, hurried into the mill. It was empty. The 
wheel was clapping, but the miller had stepped 
out, and only Klaus the raven stood beside the 
door still cherishing his anger. Paul hurried to 
the vineyard to find his aunt and send her to care 
for her mother. 

The Frau Lydia was working among the vines 
with great precision and dexterity. She never 
moved aimlessly, and always had her wits in use 
to save steps and time. Gottlieb also worked, 
fetching and carrying, holding posts, stamping 
earth, and picking up all litter. While just and 
kind to her unfortunate son, the frau had no in- 
tention that he should be a cumberer of the 


88 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


ground, and he was the happier for the occupation 
of his time and the bringing his feeble intellect to 
bear upon his tasks. Like a child, a long-con- 
tinued task was tiresome to him, so he was 
allowed frequent spells of relaxation. He looked 
up, and, seeing Paul, shouted with glee. His 
affection for his cousin was like that of a faithful 
dog for its master. Paul pitied from the depths 
of his heart the poor creature with his confused 
understanding, the soul of a young child in the 
body of a man. He suffered him to hang about 
him with no word of chiding ; he told him simple 
stories and strove to awaken thought in the 
obscure recesses of his mind ; he carved quaint 
toys and guided Gottlieb’s clumsy fingers as he 
feebly tried to make rude reproductions of them ; 
he sang to him, and at times joined in his infantile 
diversions. This kindness, the result of charity, 
perplexed and angered Johann, who treated his 
brother as such an uninteresting being, in his self- 
ish opinion, should be treated. When not teasing 
or quarreling with him, he let him severely alone, 
and, as a result, Gottlieb both feared and disliked 
his brother. This natural consequence, as con- 
trasted with the poor imbecile’s devotion to his 
cousin, infuriated Johann, and vexed exceedingly 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


89 


his grandmother and mother, who secretly accused 
Paul of obtaining an undue influence over Gott- 
lieb from purely selfish motives. 

Be still,” said the Frau Lydia with acerbity. 
“ Have you nothing to do, Paul, but run about 
and idle while others toil } ” 

“ The grandmother has a fit, or rather, has had 
a hard one, aunt Lydia. I have left her quiet on 
her bed and I came to tell you.” 

‘‘Well, then, if I must go look after her, it is 
but fitting you should take my place.” She stood 
aside, placed her arms akimbo, and scrutinized the 
result of her labors. She presented a comical 
appearance in her shapeless red-and-white linen 
jacket, her head surmounted by a huge bobbing 
hat, and a bundle of keys hanging from her girdle. 
But appearances were of small moment to her. 
“Now, Paul, you take this row and fasten these 
vines to their frames with these straw bindings. 
Then here is a rotten post ; take it up and put a 
good one in its place. Work here until dinner- 
time, if I do not come back, and as for Gottlieb, 
make him of some use. You are spoiling him by 
giving in to all his whims ; you are making him 
troublesome to us. Well, I go.” 

She turned about and waddled off, and Paul fell 


90 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


to work in her stead. Not being an eye-servant, 
he improved every moment. Vine after vine was 
fastened to its frame, and Gottlieb dug holes and 
prepared bindings. Paul felt the pleasure of a 
good workman in the thorough completion of his 
task. There was a pure, simple joy in it, and he 
whistled merrily as the fresh air kissed his smooth 
cheeks. Gottlieb skipped and ran, and pointed 
triumphantly to his achievements. “Good Gott- 
lieb ! good Gottlieb ! ” he said congratulatingly. 

“ Yes, very good, Gottlieb,” said Paul heartily. 
While they were busy the miller was coming with 
hasty strides across the fields. 

“There’s the good father,” said Gottlieb, paus- 
ing to look at him ; “ the father comes.” 

“Well, let him come.” 

The miller came up to them ; his face was 
flushed, and he was panting with the haste of his 
walk. It was with a sudden strange presentiment 
of evil that Paul turned and looked at him. 
There was evidently something on his mind ; the 
miller looked and acted oddly. 

“ What did you do with the grandmother’s gul- 
dens } ” 

At this strange and unforeseen question, Paul 
started like a frightened hare. It is impossible to 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


91 


depict the blended emotions on his countenance. 
Then he repeated mechanically, “ The grand- 
mother’s guldens ! ” 

Gottlieb dropped his bindings and coming near 
looked vacantly in their faces. 

“Yes, the grandmother’s guldens,” said the 
miller irritably. “ Do not be a parrot.” 

“ What is it you mean, uncle ” 

“Did you meddle with the money the grand- 
mother was counting ? Did you steal it ” 

“Never! never! Why, uncle Johann, can you 
— do you think it ? ” 

The miller wiped his perspiring brow. “ There ! 
there! my boy. No, I do not believe it.” 

Paul, overcome with agitation, hurt and amazed, 
and still a child at heart, leaned against a post 
and burst into tears. 

Gottlieb, seeing this, set up a frightful howl. 

“Be still!” said his father peremptorily and 
drawing a long breath. 

Paul, wiping his eyes, noticed the pathetically 
friofhtened look on Gottlieb’s face. There was a 
gold-banded bee crawling on the rim of his straw 
hat, and, strange as it may seem, he never after- 
wards remembered this moment but the poor 
creature’s look and the unconscious bee were also 


92 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


mingled with his recollections, so intimately do 
trivial associations blend with deeper emotions. 

“You see, my lad,” said his uncle, looking 
kindly at him, “ when you went in for that flour- 
bag, the grandmother sat at the table, where she 
had ten guldens in a red stocking. Now those 
guldens are gone, every one of them, and no one 
has been in except you and mother. Now, this is 
the question : Where are those guldens } They 
seem to be nowhere. The grandmother is near 
crazed. She sticks to it that you have taken 
them. Look Why, where have n’t I looked. 
Down I went on my hands and knees poking in 
every cranny, and Lydia looked high and low, and 
no one knows anything about them, and it is a 
pretty kettle of fish ! 

“ ‘ Well,’ said I, ' Paul has had nothing to do 
with it ; ’ but my heart felt as if it was weighed 
down with lead ; but now that you have looked in 
my eyes and I see innocence in your face, I will 
not believe you had anything to do with it. You 
would not sell your honor for the sake of your 
pocket, I am sure. Come, you must go back with 
me and defend yourself. One can not blame 
them for their thoughts. You yourself see how 
it is. You were alone with the grandmother 


THE LOST GULDENS. 


93 


when her sickness came on, and afterwards all 
vanished into air, you might say — stocking, gul- 
dens, everything. But come on ; waste no more 
words. You can finish here after dinner.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


STILL A MYSTERY. 


ITTLE was said between them as they 



— ' walked to the house. The uncle was won- 
dering perplexedly what could have become of the 
missing coins, and Paul was weighted with strange 
misgivings. They heard the old woman’s voice 
raised in shrill tones as they neared the mill, and 
on entering the room they saw the grandmother 
sitting in her high-backed chair, and Johann and 
his mother standing near. The two latter turned 
abruptly and stared angrily at Paul, while the old 
woman started like a soldier who hears the bugle. 

“What have you done with my guldens.?” she 
cried hoarsely, trying to rush upon him. But she 
was too weak, and she sat back with shining, de- 
vouring eyes. “ Will you tell me .? ” she gasped. 

“ I have not touched them, grandmother ; I 
have done nothing with them.” 

“You lie! You have taken my gold. You 
came in when I was counting it. I saw you 
watching as I put it back in the stocking. De- 


94 


STILL A MYSTERY. 


95 


ceitful creature ! You have robbed me, and you 
stand there with your smooth, white face and say 
falsely. No. If you have hidden it, go get it. It 
is a theft. You are a thief ! a thief ! A thief ! ” 

“ Softly, softly, grandmother,” said the miller, 
much disturbed. Paul speaks the truth. He is 
as much in the dark as we are.” 

She looked at him violently. “Was there ever 
such obstinacy of belief } Is black white } Is 
the moon made of green cheese ? If Paul says 
yes, is it so .^ ” 

Her words stung him. “I tell you, grand- 
mother, God alone looks into hearts. We can 
not see fully, but, so far, in my nephew’s acts I 
have seen only truth and honesty. Why, then, 
although the guldens are gone, and although 
he was here with you, should I at once cry out 
against him. Thief, thief.? He has the right to 
implore our confidence. He looks in your eyes ; 
he says, ‘ No, I have not touched them ; I am 
innocent.’ If he has not done it, shall we force 
him to tell a lie .? ” 

“ But who could have done it, if not Paul .? ” 
broke in Johann exultingly. “ Grandmother was 
here, at this very table ; yonder Paul comes in at 
the door. He goes to the settle, and then all of 


96 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


a sudden she falls in a fit. Who is alone here } 
Paul ! How easy to have picked them up, slipped 
them in his pocket, and gone out and hidden them ! 
Ach ! how easy ! One could have done it a hun- 
dred times. There they were for the taking. How 
easy ! how easy ! ” 

Johann’s dull eyes sparkle ; he rubs his hands, 
as is his wont when pleased ; he is really joyous. 
If his cousin has sinned, it does not strike sharply 
on his heart. For months Paul has galled him at 
every turn by his adherence to principle, his dis- 
gust at what is base and unclean. He had been 
forced to hide his head because of the outspoken 
contempt with which his cousin had greeted some 
of his practices, and yet, much as he galled and 
disquieted him, Johann had been forced, despite 
himself, to have respect for his cousin. And now 
— ah, now ! — how he gloated over the knowledge ! 
— Paul's honesty existed no longer ! The basest 
kind of pleasure, that of joy over the wrong-doing 
of others, filled Johann’s soul. 

Johann’s was not an inviolably honest nature, but 
he was cautious and wily in his sins. But then, as 
he looked at them, they were small, unimportant 
foibles. What was it to abstract slyly a few kreut- 
zers at a time from the yellow bowl in the cup- 


STILL A MYSTERY. 


97 


board ? or to avail one’s self of good luck when it 
came in his way ? One would be a fool if he neg- 
lected opportunities. Last Tuesday he found in 
the mill a beautiful red-and-black silk handkerchief. 
It was just after the Frau Weitmoser had been 
there with grist, and he distinctly remembered 
seeing it, or one like it, on her neck. He looked 
furtively about to make sure that no one saw, and 
slipped it slyly into his pocket. It was not neces- 
sary to cudgel his memory as to the exact appear- 
ance of the frau’s handkerchief ; neither was it 
necessary to proclaim his find. When a good thing 
put itself directly in his way he was wise enough 
to profit by it. And although it would not do for 
him to wear it at home for fear of curious question- 
ings, he knew at once exactly what use to make of 
it. Peter Reuss at the dorf had a most beautiful 
two-bladed knife with a bone handle, that his father 
had brought him as a present from Heidelberg. 
Johann coveted this knife and he would now be 
able to obtain it. Peter was fickle and vain, and 
was always reaching out for new possessions ; and 
the handkerchief was really a beauty. Johann 
knew exactly the tableau and conversation that 
would take place. He would probably find Peter 
alone at work in the fields. Peter had a full face. 


98 


BY A STRANGE PATN. 


a wart of a nose, cross-eyes, and lint-white hair 
that hung in wisps from under his peasant’s hat, 
that was rotted by sun and rain. His clothes were 
patchwork, his hands and feet brown as a gypsy’s. 
Johann would talk at first about the weather and 
the crops, and finally would take out the hand- 
kerchief and display it as a recent gift from his 
grandmother. Peter would take and examine it 
with covetous, saucer-like eyes. Let me tie it 
(Ml your neck,” Johann would say ; then, arrang- 
ing it carefully, “ Ah, Peter, but you do look well 
in it ! There ’s no one around could stand up to 
you with a handkerchief like that.” 

Really ” the poor sheep would say with a 
wide grin. Like a fly whose feet are caught in 
wax he would handle and stroke it and grimace 
vainly. 

“ Well, it ’s high time I must be going, Peter. I 
suppose when I wear it Sunday the Wenzel boys 
will be ready to bite off their own noses for vex- 
ation. There was no other handkerchief like it 
in Heidelberg. If people want to get hold of one 
they will have trouble, that is all. Just look at 
the colors ! Did you ever see such a handsome 
red.?” He could see Peter’s eyes roving from 
himself to the handkerchief in painful hesitation. 


STILL A MYSTERY, 


99 


** Suppose — I — suppose you were to trade me 
off this handkerchief,” he says in a half- whisper. 

Eh ! is that what you are thinking of } Well, 
you are a keen one,” says Johann dryly. *‘You 
want to rob me of my fine property. You think 
Gretchen Eichler would have no eyes for any lad 
but you, once you are fixed up so handsome. Ah, 
but, Peter, you are too smart for me. You have a 
long head on your shoulders ; one trading with 
you always gets burnt. What would my grand- 
mother say if I parted with her present that cost 
so much } If she once got wind of it, I would be 
undone. And it surely would come out, for you 
would be so set up you would go about bragging. 
* See what I was smart enough to get for a song 
from Johann Hartmann!’” And Johann would 
look at him with admiration for his smartness. 
This incense to his vanity would quite cause Peter 
to lose his head. 

“Oh, dear, I can not stop your tongue, Johann. 
It is not I who want to make you do a foolish 
thing. You are sharp, too. What would you 
want, now, for it 

“ Oh, you have nothing I care for, Peter, and 
the handkerchief is better where it is ; and I must 
be going.” , 


lOO 


BY A STBANGE PATH. 


“No, not going yet ; wait a while. Aye, ’t is a 
pretty thing ; and you would n’t care for my sled 
or my whistles } ” 

“ I am not a fool, Peter ! ” 

“ Well, then, there is my knife ! ” 

Johann felt that at this juncture it would take 
all his resolution not to show his inward satisfac- 
tion. 

“ Pooh ! your knife for my beautiful handker- 
chief! What kind of a trade is that.? Your 
knife is a fair enough knife, but ” — 

“It is a beautiful knife, Johann. Look, you can 
not but see how excellent it is. Try the blades ; 
it will cut a hair. I would not let it go, only ” — 
And he fondles the handkerchief, which he desires 
the more earnestly as Johann seems disinclined 
to part with it. 

Johann trembles in his skin lest Peter shall 
come to his senses and not insist on the trade. 

“ Well, I ’m a fool for giving you the best of the 
bargain, but here, seeing you want the handker- 
chief so badly, I ’ll take the knife. There I there 
is the handkerchief! ” 

His fingers thrill with pleasure as they close 
over the knife that Peter will never get back 
again, and he turns awa^^ to hide the exultant 
‘ - 


STILL A MYSTERY, 


lOI 


gleam of his eyes. But now that his knife is no 
longer his property, poor Peter feels a frightful 
misgiving that he has been tricked. The hand- 
kerchief is something like the apples of Sodom to 
him. 

“Johann ! Johann ! ” 

“ Can’t stop, Peter. Won’t you look fine on 
Sunday and off goes Johann whistling. Let 
the kid browse where it is tethered, he thinks. 

Ah, what a lucky fellow he is that everything 
turns out so opportunely ! To have a cunning 
turn of mind to look out for one’s best interests is 
right and proper, but to be so lost to all virtue 
as to deliberately steal ten guldens from the poor 
old grandmother, ah, what a horrible lack of 
virtue that shows ! He laughs, visibly pleased 
as the Frau Lydia steps up to Paul and with no 
gentle hand .proceeds to search his pockets. 
Paul’s cheeks are aflame ; he shivers and sets his 
teeth. They might have spared him this indignity. 
But Johann’s cruelly watching eyes are rewarded 
with no sight of the lost coins. Paul has nothing 
about him. 

The frau’s face expresses the deepest disgust 
as she turns to her husband. 

“ He has hidden them somewhere.” 


102 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


“Yes, he has hidden them!” shrills the old 
woman. 

“ Hidden them I cried Johann positively. “ Of 
course he has ; who but a fool would carry them 
about with him } Paul is a sly one, eh ” 

“Johann,” says the miller, “be good to your 
cousin. Do not heap trouble upon him. Go tend 
to the mill, Paul. And now, Johann, it is evil of 
you not to show confidence.” 

“ Father,” said the Frau Lydia with a voice 
quivering with anger, “ there is no way out of not 
thinking your nephew the thief. We have looked 
everywhere, and the money is as gone as if the 
earth had opened and swallowed it up. He has 
taken it and put it in a hiding-place. Hush, 
mother I Crying and going on will do no good ) 
it will bring on another fit. As I have often 
said. One never knows strangers. He has taken 
the money, the monster, the hypocrite I — the 
mother’s savings for the winter. No one else 
could have done it.” 

**Ac/i, Mein Gott T' cried the poor miller, over- 
whelmed. “ It looks bad for the lad.” His moist 
eyes avoided meeting those of his family ; he ran 
his fingers through his hair, disheveling it about 
his forehead. “But I tell you, I can’t believe it. 


STILL A MYSTERY. 


103 


I am suffering much. I feel stabbed to the heart, 
but honest he has always been, and truthful. Bar- 
bara's son ! And Barbara was an honest woman.” 
He paused, visibly torn betwixt contending emo- 
tions. 

“ Nonsense,” said his wife, breaking some eggs 
as she spoke and crushing the shells vindictively 
as she tossed them into a pan standing near full 
of feed for the fowls. Any one can be blind as 
a mole, if only they so choose. You can shut 
your eyes if you like, and then say the sun shines 
not, but it shines, nevertheless. And so to me, 
no matter what you would have me think, the 
case is as plain as the nose on my face. Black is 
always black to me, and white is white, no matter 
what a hundred say to the contrary. And as for 
you — well, you always were a man of good judg- 
ment, and I always have said to my neighbors, 
‘You must understand that what my husband 
thinks is always sure to be the right thing ’ ; but 
now you seem to have lost your head. You have 
been taken in by that sly lad, and how can I think 
your judgment always right Poor mother! see 
her, the picture of despair. She has never known 
such a loss. At her age trouble breaks one down 
completely. And now I must get the dinner on 


104 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


the table. That dishonest lad is always ready to 
set his teeth into victuals. Ah, the ingrate ! the 
viper ! ” 

It was impossible now for matters and things to 
go on as before at the miller s. Ignoble in their 
moral being, their minds distorted with prejudice, 
the mother, grandmother, and Johann were contin- 
ually prompted to keep Paul on the rack by sly 
hints, mean innuendoes, and cold, unfriendly 
glances. Full of confidence that some time they 
should discover his secret, they watched and waited 
and exulted in his coming undoing. As for the 
miller, he felt at times horrible misgivings, and 
again could not bring himself to think that Bar- 
bara’s son would fail in honor and take money that 
did not belong to him. 

He could not fail to see that Paul was undergo- 
ing a stress of mental suffering ; that he was like 
a young plant in adverse soil, battling against con- 
ditions too strong for its development. 

One day he came on Paul in the water meadow. 
He had been cutting sedge-grass for the cows, 
and now he stood looking sorrowfully down in 
the limpid waters of the brook as they babbled 
merrily over sun-glinted pebbles. The tints and 
tones were charming and the bending grasses on 


STILL A MYSTERY. 


105 


the bank swayed gently, abandoning themselves 
willingly to the action of the stream. 

It is a pretty brook,” said the miller, by way 
of opening the conversation ; “but you look gloomy 
and sad, my son.” 

“ Oh, I am feeling well, uncle,” said Paul, with 
an air of forced cheerfulness. 

“ But you are not feeling happy. It is a ques- 
tion of the mind, not the body. Ah, my poor 
lad ! ” The miller’s voice choked, his eyes swam 
in tears. “You suffer. Is it because you have 
sinned I ask it as a father — as a mother!” 
He looked down at the shining sands, the chang- 
ing tints of light, the big dragon-fly whirring 
above the water, his emotion not suffering him to 
go on for some moments. “ One wrong act, my 
son, is not vice. Temptation comes to the saint 
as well as the sinner. The devil is crafty in 
spreading nets for our feet. We are weak, the 
best of us. Did the evil one come to you, my 
son ? Did he say, * Ah, Paul, the grandmother is 
sick, perhaps dying ; you are alone and here are 
ten guldens to be had for the taking ; if she dies 
no one will ever know, the knowledge will be hid- 
den in your own heart ’ ? The test was too great. 
You thought not of God’s eye ; it was the eye of 


io6 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


man alone you feared ; you hesitated and you 
were lost. Is it so, my lad } Listen, I will tell 
you something not even known to my good wife. 
I will confess to you, that you may find it easy to 
confess to me. Confess your sins one to another, 
is not that what the good Book says ? When I 
was twelve years old I stole a gulden from my 
good father’s pocket. Tempted by gewgaws in a 
market-town I stole it to buy trumpery. ‘ I have 
lost a gulden,’ said my father, but suspect me he 
did not. He looked on me as honest and true. 
He never even asked if I had taken it. But with 
no suspicion fastening on me, I was ill at ease. 
God knew it and was angry. I was lashed with 
scorpion whips ; it burned into my soul like fire. 
I shunned my father’s presence. I wished there 
were no commandments — no God. Then, to be 
easier in my mind, I asked God to forgive me. 
But no ease of soul came ; instead, I seemed to 
hear a stern voice saying, ‘ Confess to your father, 
and then seek forgiveness of the God whose laws 
you have broken.’ I could stand it no longer. I 
felt God would not cloak sin to favor a sinner. 
He could not and be just. I went to my father. 
The good man was working in his vines. My 
tongue was parched, my eyes dry. ‘ Father,’ said 


STILL A MYSTERY, 


107 


I, ‘ I can keep still no longer. I stole your 
gulden ! ’ 

He staggered as if I had struck him ; the pale- 
ness of death seemed to settle on his face. 

‘ Forgive me ! ’ I cried, ‘ oh, my father ! ’ 

* My God,’ he said, lifting his eyes, ‘ I thank 
thee that thou hast brought my child to repent- 
ance.’ Then he folded me in his arms and we 
wept together. Broken in spirit, contrite beyond 
the power of words to tell, I knelt with him 
among the vines in prayer. ‘ I forgive you, my 
son,’ he said as we arose, ‘ fully, freely. And if I 
forgive, what will not your Father in heaven do, 
who loves the penitent, and blots out their sins 
for Christ’s sake } ’ 

“ That night for the first time in weeks I sought 
my bed with a happy heart. Love had forgiven 
and I was taken back into divine and earthly 
favor. And now, my child, if you in a moment of 
temptation have sinned grievously, I beseech you 
now that you make full and free confession.” 

Paul's bosom heaved, his face flushed and paled. 
Unconsciously, he wrung his hands. “Oh, my 
good uncle, if I had stolen the ten guldens I 
would surely, surely tell you; but, before God, I 
say of a truth, I did not touch them. Oh, have 
faith in me ! You are my only friend.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


OVERCOME OF EVIL. 

TOHANN and Paul, you will go to the forest 
I to-day to gather fagots,” said the miller one 
Wednesday morning. 

‘‘Good!” said Johann with a chuckle, ‘‘and 
Franz and Hans Wenzel are going too, to-day ; 
that is jolly.” 

“ I do not send you to play,” said his father, 
smiling, “ but if you work well you will have some 
time for sport. Old heads do not fit naturally 
on young shoulders, but you must not commit any 
forest crime or the wood police will have an eye 
to you.” 

Johann winked. “ You need n’t be uneasy, 
father; I have good sense.” 

“ Use it always, then, my son ; sense is always 
needed.” 

The forest was a couple of miles distant, but 
that was but a trifle to the quartet of healthy, 
active boys ; for Franz and Hans joined them be- 
fore they had gone far. It was a lovely morning. 

io8 


OVERCOME OE EVIL. 


109 


Sunlight, verdure, sweet, mysterious perfumes, 
cottages embowered in fruit-trees, terraces bright 
with grape-vines, hedges of box and sweet-brier, 
a brook darting onwards like a vein of silver, 
clouds beautiful and filmy, floating in an ocean of 
blue, industrious peasants toiling in their fields, 
children gathering osiers by the water-courses, a 
hush of silence, flitting shadows athwart the sunny 
slopes — oh, how beautiful it all was ! how charm- 
ing the luxuriant valley ! 

And then came the path up the hill-side, the 
wild, witching beauty of the mountain, the pun- 
gent odors of larches, poplars, and pines, the soft 
whisperings of forest trees, vistas checkered 
with light and shade, flickering shadows, opening 
glades. Ledges of granite cropped out here and 
there, covered with lichens, draped with tangled 
vines ; fresh and tender verdure showed in unex- 
pected places ; patches of soft moss made luxuri- 
ous carpets for the feet. In the solitudes one 
came suddenly on a saw-mill, old, perchance, and 
picturesquely dilapidated, tree-trunks stripped of 
their bark piled about it, a delightful odor of 
resinous pines and fresh sawdust penetrating the 
air. 

Paul’s delight in nature was innocent and deep. 


I lO 


BV A STBANGE PATH, 


Lithe and vigorous, he audaciously scaled rocks, 
made good his footing on trying places, feeling no 
doubt of himself where more timid ones would 
have shuddered. He delighted in these mountain 
excursions, joyous in the intimate communion 
with nature, and soothed by the sights and sounds 
about him. His companions left him to himself. 
Franz and Hans were commonplace peasants, 
ignorant, industrious, neither very good nor very 
bad, but full of rough, youthful vitality. Always 
a little shy of the lad from Bremen, because of Jo- 
hann’s insidious influence, they had been shocked 
to hear the account of his theft of the guldens. 

“ Would you ever have believed that he could 
'turn out such a scoundrel.^” said Johann with 
pretended horror, “after all his holding himself 
on a steeple, you might say, above us, pretending 
to see harm in harmless tricks and all that. He 
is a downright rogue, who, if he goes on as he has 
begun, will end, I don’t know how. He has 
thought always that we boys were of no account, 
because his father was a minister and had taught 
him some book-learning. As for me, I ’ve not 
been duped by him from the first. I saw some- 
thing about him from the start. You remember 
I ’ve told you to look out for him time and again. 


OVERCOME OF EVIL, 


III 


Nothing ever got wings in our house before he 
came.” 

“ It is a shame, robbing an old woman ! ” said 
Hans, with deepest disgust on his face. 

Well, he is my cousin ; for that I am sorry. 
Father said. Say nothing outside of the family, 
but I do right to let him be known for what he is.” 

‘‘ A thief ! Horrible ! ” said Franz. 

Too honest to dissemble much, and unable to 
divert their minds from the knowledge of his 
theft, the Wenzels, when near Paul, seemed struck 
with dumbness — cast on him curious, furtive 
glances, and gave all the signs possible to make it 
known that they were in the knowledge of his 
crime. 

Yes, Johann has destroyed without mercy my 
reputation,” thought Paul. “ I am undoubtedly 
known throughout the valley as a thief. It is 
cruel ! it is shameful ! Circumstances have told 
against me, and I am powerless to defend myself. 
Has God forgotten me ? Why does he not in 
some way testify to my innocence ? How I have 
prayed that he will clear up this mystery, and 
make it plain as the noonday ! ‘ I cried to thee, 

O Lord ; and unto the Lord I made supplica- 
tion,’ falling almost unconsciously into the words 


I 12 


BY A STRANGE PATH, 


of the Psalmist with which he had been made 
acquainted from infancy. ‘ I was a reproach 
among all mine enemies, but especially among my 
neighbours, and a fear to mine acquaintance : they 
that did see me without fled from me.’ ” How 
appositely these words came to his mind ! And 
he could remember the very time when he had 
repeated them, unconscious as a babe of their 
depth of tragic sorrow. Every day he learned his 
psalm and repeated it gladly and proudly to his 
parents, and the day he learned that one he re- 
membered how he lay on his back in the grasses 
in the yard at home, and looked up, happy that 
the great over-arching sky was so blue and vast. 
The white stork sailed lazily far overhead, a bee 
boomed in a bending flower-bell, the little dainty 
puppy that loved him jumped on him and licked 
his hand. His mother came out and sat down on 
the red bench under the fir-trees. She had on a 
blue dress and her eyes were like violets. Then 
his father came and stood beside her. He was 
tall and slender, with such a beautiful, saintly 
face. 

“Come, my Paul. Let me hear your psalm,” 
he said joyously. 

Paul put away the puppy’s white paws and came 


OVERCOME OF EVIL, 


II3 

blithely towards them, conscious of a task well 
learned. Then he began in his childish voice : — 

“ In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust ; let me 
never be ashamed : deliver me in thy righteous- 
ness.” 

Verse after verse flowed fluently from his lips. 
How gracious was his father’s smile ! How soft 
the mother-touch on his head ! How could he feel 
the heart-throbs of sorrow in some of the words 
he lightly uttered, or comprehend rightly the glo- 
rious closing strain, ‘‘ Be of good courage, and he 
shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the 
Lord ” .? 

His task was well done ; his guerdon was his 
father’s kiss. Nothing tied him down. He was 
blithely, triumphantly happy ; and now, to-day, the 
sweet memory of that past seemed to belong to an- 
other life, for sorrow and loneliness and trial were 
his portion, cruel slanders and vile reproaches ; 
and he cried with full sense of its pathetic mean- 
ing : “ Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am in 
trouble.” 

Franz and Hans and Johann were having fine 
sport ahead of him. Mariott, the Wenzels’ little 
black-and-white spaniel, which had sneaked along 
at a distance after them, conscious that she had 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


II4 

been ordered to stay at home, now, thinking all 
danger of being ordered back over, boldly showed 
herself and frisked fawningly about them. 

Mariott was not a remarkable animal, but she 
possessed that clinging, blind affection for those 
of her own household that is a trait of nearly all 
dogs. Moreover, she could fetch and carry, and 
sit on her hind legs, and “ speak ” vociferously 
when she wanted a favor. Now, for her disobe- 
dience in following them, her young masters gave 
her a sharp scolding, and then proceeded to put 
her through her tricks. She sat motionless with 
her forepaws folded on her breast for five minutes. 

‘‘ There ! You are moving ! ” cried Hans. 

“Steady! steady! confound you ! " cried Franz. 

“Don’t let her down!” said Johann with au- 
thority. “ Make her sit up. See how long she 
can do it.” 

What was fun for the boys, who had only to lie 
lazily on the sward and watch her, began to be tor- 
ture to poor Mariott. She put out her little pink 
tongue pathetically, cast meek, imploring glances 
at her merciless tormenters, and probably wished 
she was home on the sunny door-stone. Whether 
she arraigned herself for being so foolishly deter- 
mined to keep her masters company, no one knew. 


OVERCOME OF EVIL, 


II5 

But seeing no let-up to her discomfort, the spaniel 
began to meditate a bold stroke for liberty. She 
was becoming very tired and unhappy, and she 
looked down towards Paul. She knew him well. 
He always gave her kind words and caresses. Ani- 
mals, by some instinct, know their friends, and 
Mariott knew Paul was fond of her. He certainly 
would not keep her posing in this uncomfortable 
position. She slipped down and ran towards him, 
jumped on him, and licked his feet. 

Let me have your protection,” she seemed to 

say. 

He bent down and stroked her caressingly. 

“ Ah, poor Mariott ! You, then, want me for a 
friend ! ” 

Johann swore angrily. 

“ Look at the little fool ! ” he said. How dare 
she .? ” 

Then he picked up a stone and aimed it at her. 

“ Come back, you brute ! ” 

The stone struck her on her left forepaw. She 
yelped with pain, and imploringly held up the 
injured leg. 

“ See here,” she seemed to be saying, “ did I de- 
serve this ? Ah ! it hurts. It is cruel.” 

However, she made no motion to come back at 


Il6 BY A Sl'RANGE PATH. 

the command. Instead, she pressed closer to 
Paul. 

“ Leave that thing,” cried Johann, aflame with 
jealous, unreasonable anger, “or I’ll make you. 
What ! you won’t come Very well ; here goes 
another ! ” 

Mariott whined and looked up at Paul with her 
sad, wistful eyes. If he did not now protect her, 
where was her hope } 

“ Don’t you dare throw another stone at her ! ” 
said Paul, his face flushing. 

“ What do you mean [oath] by ordering me like 
that V* said Johann hotly, springing to his feet. 

“ I mean you shall not act like a brute ! ” 

“And I mean to do just as I please.” 

“ Not while I am here.” 

“ Hear him, boys ! hear him ! ” cried Johann, 
quivering with passion. “//> sets himself up to 
interfere in my business ! He ! Look at him ! 
and Johann pointed scornfully towards him. 
“ What is he 1 A liar and a thief ! He stole 
the ten guldens. Ha ! ha ! thief ! thief ! thief ! ” 

The thick cry sounded in the woodland silence. 
“ Thief ! thief ! thief ! ” Echo, coy nymph, hiding 
in rocky fastnesses, caught up the words and flung 
them back, shuddering. They filled the air. 


OVERCOME OF EVIL, 


II7 

‘‘Hound! caitiff I” cried Paul, through set teeth. 
His face whitened visibly ; red circles came about 
his mouth and eyes. There was something terrible 
in the madness of his look. It was as if a wild 
stream had leaped its banks. “ I could kill you I ” 
he hissed. Then he leaped toward Johann. 

“Ah, ha! ” cried Hans, “a fight is on.’' 

“Johann has found his match,” said Franz. “It 
is a tussle, is it not ? They fight with their feet.” 

“ Paul is quick as lightning. Johann had better 
look out.” 

“The devil is on the thief’s side, mark you.” 

“ Hey ! But it is terrible. There will surely 
come harm.” 

“ Ah ! look, look, Hans ! ” 

There was a rapid, decisive struggle. Johann 
made a false movement, and quick as a flash Paul 
threw him heavily to the ground. His head struck 
a jutting stone, his muscles quivered, and he lay 
horribly still. 

Paul stood over him with the look of a soul that 
had laid hold on hell. 

“ Well, I guess you have killed him ! ” 

The exclamation came from Franz. 

Paul trembled. Reason and conscience resumed 
their sway. 


I l8 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

My God ! Am I a murderer ? ” 

No one answered ; but far and clear echo again 
shivered the silences, and this time sounded the 
appalling words : “ A murderer ! a murderer ! 


CHAPTER X. 


THE FRAU WEITMOSER. 



T miller Hartmann’s the mill-wheels clapped 


merrily ; the stream rushed blithely on its 
way ; the swallows circled in the blue ; the bees 
hummed in the flowers. In the mill door, on 
some sacks of wheat, sat the Frau Weitmoser, 
knitting, keeping an eye on her great, gray Per- 
cheron horses that stood over sixteen hands high. 
They switched their tails, pawed, and looked round 
at her inquiringly, as if to say, “ Are you not 
forgetting yourself ? It is approaching the dinner 
hour. We want to go home.” 

“Softly, softly, my boys,” she said, sheathing 
her needles, putting the gray woolen stocking in 
her pocket, and rising to pat them and kill a 
troublesome fly that was irritating the nigh one. 
“ We will start presently. Here comes the miller.” 

The horse whinnied and rubbed his nose against 
her. Animals, everybody, liked the Frau Weit- 
moser. She was the gracious lady of the commu- 
nity ; an unpretending, and yet in many respects 


119 


120 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


a grand, character. For fifteen years she had 
administered with skill and wisdom the hundred- 
acre farm of the rich but eccentric Herr Liebeg, 
who, scorning the humble peasant society of the 
valley, had betaken himself to centers of culture 
and fashion, and rarely visited this farm, confident 
in the skill of the frau to manage matters rightly 
and honestly. The Liebeg farm was the pride of 
the valley. Owners of the small farms and hold- 
ings about looked with astonished admiration on 
the wonderful results that careful and systematic 
management caused it to yield. The Frau Weit- 
moser was a born farmer. She was endowed with 
watchfulness, patience, and close powers of obser- 
vation. She knew how to use just labor enough 
and no more, and adapted all means thoroughly to 
the one end, that of obtaining the largest number 
of crops under the best conditions. 

No feeble or inferior beasts were allowed in her 
stables. Her flocks and herds were chosen with 
care, and the cattle-pens, dairy, sheep-fold, stables, 
and granaries were large and airy, and built so 
that beasts and their products might thrive, not 
suffer. The cows were rubbed down daily and 
carded like the horses, and as a consequence gave 
excellent returns for such care. Life and stir per- 


THE FRAU WEITMOSER. 


12 I 


vaded every portion of the farm. So great was 
the magnetism of the mistress and her power of 
bringing the simple peasants to understand and 
share her ideas that they moved under her as 
soldiers under their commander’s eye, and had 
confidence in all her plans and enthusiastically 
worked to bring about their fulfillment. She 
was their adviser, their friend, and well-wisher ; in 
short, she was the most loved and respected person 
in the valley. 

In person she was very fleshy, with a rosy, 
pleasant face, large, kindly brown eyes, and black, 
glossy hair, and a smile that lit up her countenance 
like a burst of sunshine. 

“ Ah, worthy frau, but you have wonderful 
strength,” said the admiring miller, as she now 
began to pick up bag after bag of grain and toss 
them deftly into the clumsy V-shaped wagon. I 
know no man who excels you in strength.” 

She laughed, well pleased. 

Is that so } Well, good miller, did I tell you 
I have engaged a new wheelwright on the farm ? 
He is an excellent workman, far better than poor 
old Hantzel, who never could learn that the world 
turned and that the new must supersede the old. 
I know of a surety that if the new man and I put 


122 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


our heads together, we can make improvements 
that will tell on these clumsy carts of ours, for 
clumsy they are, you must confess, if you are 
honest. And suppose our fathers were content 
with them, have we not a right to improve on our 
fathers’ ideas ? ” 

She nodded her head archly at him ; her white 
teeth shone through her sweet red lips ; roses 
blushed in her cheeks ; her long lashes curved 
softly upwards like a child’s. 

The miller was struck with her youthfulness of 
look. 

“ What tryst have you taken with time. Mistress 
Weitmoser, that you never grow old.? You are 
fair as a young fraulein.” 

The honest compliment pleased her, for she was 
very human. 

“ You must not flatter me, good miller, else I 
am afraid that I shall grow vain. But, indeed, 
I am no longer young. Time has stolen away my 
youth. I am middle-aged ; I shall be forty the 
third of next month, if God spares my life. Ah ! 
how the years creep upon us ! The days go by 
swifter than a weaver’s shuttle. The roundness 
goes, and the beauty of youth, and wrinkles and 
gray hairs and slower steps steal on us, we know 


THE FRAU WEITMOSER. 


123 


not where or how. And then life is behind us as 
a dream, and our grave is there to receive us as 
was our cradle at our birth. But, my good friend, 
it is a truth that I find life beautiful and full of 
joy. God has put me here to do his will and help 
carry out his plans. I say to myself, ‘ I am God’s 
servant ; therefore, like a good servant, let me 
seek first to do his will. Love to God first, then 
to love my neighbor as myself : that is the sum of 
living ; that is my Bible in a nut-shell. Life for 
me is love, and if this poor life is love, then what 
is heaven } ” 

The miller thought over her words as he me- 
chanically patted the horse near whose head he 
stood. The charm of the bright, languorous sum- 
mer’s day pulsated everywhere. The creaking of 
tools sounded on his ears, the coming and going 
of bountifully laden carts. Bees droned about 
their hives, flowers bloomed, insects gave forth 
their murmuring notes, ephemera danced in the 
sunlight. From out the meadows floated the gay 
tones and laughter of children. A blue-coated 
bauer^ rattling by in a wagon drawn by two shin- 
ing, coal-black steeds, cracked his whip with a 
flourish and shouted a hearty “ Good-morning ! ” 
A man in a blue blouse, who was driving a yoke of 


124 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


scraggy cows harnessed to a plow and harrow 
fastened on a little frame of four wheels, tickled 
the ribs of the patient animals with a sapling and 
bawled in resonant tones, “ Yisht ! yisht ! vot ! 
oot ! woa ! woa ! ” At this. Bull, the dog, pricked 
up his ears and gave a challenging bark, and at the 
same time a plump red hen came out of a dark 
corner of the mill, where, with the mysterious 
secrecy of fowls, she had stolen a nest, and, cack- 
ling loudly, boasted of the fine white egg she had 
laid. Then, hurried and flushed, the Frau Lydia 
came up from the garden carrying a large bunch 
of claret-colored hollyhocks as an offering of amity 
to the Frau Weitmoser. 

Life, warm, breathing, joyous life, was every- 
where. Ah, be it long or short, life was a pre- 
cious boon, and the thought of death, chill, 
shrouded, lonely, was distasteful and incongruous. 
The miller shivered and turned to the gracious 
frau, in whom all the warmth and brightness of 
the summer’s day seemed blended. 

But the horses were too restive to allow her to 
stop long to talk with the Frau Lydia. She took 
the hollyhocks with pleased exclamations at their 
beauty, clambered into the wagon, uttered a gay 
good-by, and, giving the restive animals their 


THE FRAU WEITMOSER. 125 

heads, clattered swiftly down the road out of 
sight. 

The miller strolled a few rods down to look at 
his turnip field. His wife sociably followed him, 
and they stood comparing notes about the crop, 
when the Frau Lydia, whose keen eyes were every- 
where, cried out, “ Who are those coming up the 
road 1 ” 

He shielded his eyes with his hand in order to 
see better. 

“ I do not know. Some one seems to be in 
trouble. There are three people; no, four; the 
one is behind.” 

*‘Yes, the three are together. How slow and 
unsteady they walk ! The middle one leans on 
the others ; they seem to carry him. Ach ! ” 
She leaned eagerly forward, corrugating her brows. 
*‘Does it not look like — look, tell me — ah, yes, 
it is — it is my Johann. What can have hap- 
pened } Ach ! ach ! ” 

The miller turned pale and panted. Indeed it 
is our boys. What has been done } Have they 
committed a forest crime and gotten into trouble 
with the wood police } Alas ! alas ! ” 

Suspense was terrible. Anxious to know the 
worst, they hastened towards the slowly moving 


126 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


group. The mother burst into tears when she 
came near to her son, who was supported on each 
side by his friends Franz and Hans. His feet 
were lifted with difficulty ; his head drooped on 
his breast, his face was of a ghastly white and 
smirched with blood and dirt. Blood was upon 
his clothes. He was a frightful object. 

“ My poor boy ! What has happened } ” she 
cried, taking him to her arms. 

He burst into choked, convulsive sobs. 

“ It was Paul. I did nothing. He flew on me 
on the mountain. He meant to kill me. I shall 
die! I shall die!” 

The mother started like a lioness aroused. 

“ Paul set on you } Good heavens ! Speak you, 
boys. Is this so ” 

“Yes,” said Hans. “He said he would kill 
him. He was the very devil.” 

She turned to her husband, her blood boiling. 

“ Do you hear that } ” 

She was convulsed with conflicting emotions — 
love and intense pity for her child, and an over- 
whelming anger against Paul. She could say no 
more. Her voice choked ; she could only gasp and 
press Johann more closely to her. 

The miller looked at his bruised, bleeding son, 


THE FRAU WEITMOSER. 


127 


and then at his nephew, who stood guiltily apart. 
The feelings of the father were roused. Johann’s 
shed blood was his ; he suffered with him. And 
Paul had set on his son — by the mouth of wit- 
nesses it was proved — and had threatened his life, 
had terribly wounded him. His wrath burned 
hotly. He clutched in an iron grasp the miser- 
able Paul, who stood before him with trembling 
limbs, failing eyes, and sinking heart. When anger 
once dominated the miller, he was indeed terrible. 

^‘Cursed fiend!” he said. Judas Iscariot! 
robber ! murderer ! ” His teeth were set. His eyes 
sparkled wickedly ; his wrath was overcoming him. 

So I cast you off ! ” he said, throwing the lad heav- 
ily from him. Then, without waiting to note the 
consequences, he turned tremblingly to his son, and, 
limp as a rag, from his consuming wrath, helped 
steady his tottering steps homeward. 

And Paul lay on the roadside, white and insensi- 
ble. He made no sign as the hot sun-rays beat on 
his upturned face. His dark lashes rested on his 
cheeks ; his hands were stretched out as he had 
thrown them wildly when he fell. A butterfly 
poised on a grass-stalk beside him, and furled and 
unfurled its wings fearlessly. An ant made a path- 
way for itself over his white throat. A foraging 


128 


BY A STRANGE PA TH. 


bee paused for a moment on his damp, clustering 
locks. Then Gottlieb came running, and knelt 
down by him with an exceeding bitter cry, “ Paul ! 
my Paul ! ” 

The silence, the strangeness, the unanswering- 
ness of the poor body struck the imbecile with 
frightful anguish. He pulled at the cold hands and 
patted the round cheek. 

‘‘ Wake up, Paul ! wake up ! Open your eyes. 
Poor Gottlieb is afraid, afraid ! ” 

Finding his efforts in vain, the poor creature 
walked up and down, wringing his hands and utter- 
ing plaintive cries. Suddenly an idea struck him. 
He would give what he prized above all of his 
simple possessions to his insensate idol. Then, 
perchance, he would open his eyes and smile once 
more. 

Hastily Gottlieb retraced his steps to the house. 
There was much commotion and stir inside. The 
miller was supporting his injured son in his arms. 
The mother and grandmother were bathing and 
bandaging his bruised head, and Franz and Hans 
stood awkwardly about in the character of embar- 
rassed and sympathizing friends. 

Unnoticed by any one, Gottlieb took down 
from the wall the wooden cage that held his 


THE FRAU WEITMOSER. 


129 


kreuzschnabely his dear cross-bill, bearing the red 
marks that legend says are the tokens of its en- 
deavor to remove the nails from the crucified 
Saviour’s palms. The pretty thing manifested no 
fear as he carried it hastily back to Paul. It only 
looked intently with its bright eyes through its 
bars, not knowing its owner was surrendering it 
on the altar of his love. 

Paul had not stirred when he reached him ; and 
tears rolled down Gottlieb’s brown cheeks as he 
placed the cage on his motionless breast. 

“ Take it, Paul,” he said, with sobs. “ It is yours 
now. See, Paul ! I give you my bird. Open your 
eyes, my Paul. Laugh, Paul ! Wake up and 
laugh.” 

Paul stirred. His eyes unclosed ; he looked up 
dazedly, as one who has been wandering in dark- 
ness. The chill of death seemed to have fastened 
upon him. How weak he was ! Why was he 
here } What had happened } Why was Gottlieb 
there crying, and the cross-bill in its cage on his 
breast } 

“ Gottlieb, what is the matter } ” 

Gottlieb laughed gayly, clapping his hands in an 
ecstasy of gladness. 

Laugh, Paul, laugh ! Don’t sleep out-of-doors. 


130 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


I am frightened. Johann frightens me. Johann 
is sick — all blood! all blood I Who hurt Jo- 
hann V He spoke the last words in a shrill, hor- 
rified whisper, peering curiously in Paul’s face. 

And then memory and consciousness re-asserted 
themselves. Everything came to him in one light- 
ning flash ; and turning his face away, Paul burst 
into an agony of tears. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE master’s call. 

TT was the time of the wheat harvest, and great 
preparations were going on at the Frau Weit- 
moser’s. Thus far it had been an unusually pro- 
pitious season, rain and sunshine and the perfect 
system of irrigation having done all that was pos- 
sible to accelerate luxurious growths. 

Everything had done admirably on the big 
farm this year, even better than usual. The cows 
had calved excellently, the sheep had been healthy, 
the horses and oxen were in the best condition, 
the poultry had doubled themselves in number, 
and no gapes or distemper had carried off the young 
chickens, which would be laying by October. The 
vineyards were thrifty, the vegetables unusually 
forward, the fruit-trees loaded. The frau could 
look upon the beauty and promise about her and 
say, “ Behold, it is good ! ” 

Early on Monday morning preparations began 
to be made for the reapers who were coming to- 
morrow from Mitterwurz. Cheery and wide-awake 


131 


132 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


in her blue linen dress, white stockings, and silk 
apron, the frau began her tour of inspection and 
oversight. She went down the large quadrangle, 
one side of which was formed by the farm-house. 
Two or three servants were clattering about in 
their wooden shoes. Old Krasmir was taking 
the cows to drink out of the pond in the enclos- 
ure. Cocks and hens were strutting about and 
foraging. A large manure-heap lay rotting, but 
was kept with the utmost neatness, its sides being 
braided with straw. 

She went into the cattle stables, walking down 
the wide, paved space between the mangers, and, 
observing with care the rows of sleek cattle, 
she looked into the racks to see that the fod- 
der was enough and yet without waste. She 
saw that the alleys between the stalls and the 
outer walls were clean and free from litter ; 
spoke gently to each animal, calling it by name 
and stroking its placid face. They all knew her 
and none were afraid. Then she visited the 
horses. Favorite among these noble animals was 
her barb Violetta. She was a magnificent young 
mare with great liquid eyes, gentle but full of 
mettle. She had been only broken this season, 
and needed the greatest care and circumspection. 


THE MASTERS CALL. 


133 


She whinnied as her mistress entered her stall, 
turned her glossy neck and intelligent head 
toward her, pricked up her ears, and took 
daintily the lump of sugar offered her. 

“ I can not take the time to drive you to-day, 
Violetta,” said the frau, but you shall have 
exercise.” 

She unloosed her halter and led her out into 
the enclosure. The mare danced proudly along. 
It seemed at times as if her four legs were off 
the ground at once. 

“Now,” said her mistress, standing still and 
suffering her to play about her. 

The magnificent beast galloped in a circle, stood 
on her hind legs, displayed to advantage her 
beauty and grace. To a timid observer it would 
have seemed a dangerous thing for a woman to 
think of controlling the powerful, plunging animal, 
but the frau was the best of horsewomen and 
knew no fear. Her vigilant eyes watched every 
motion, her firm hand did not tremble. 

Tom, the mastiff, sat near by on his haunches 
and watched gravely the performance. Old Kras- 
mir leaned against the barn-side looking on in 
grim admiration, and Werner Storty, the moon- 
faced, fat stable lad, stood with his hands in his 
pockets, his mouth and eyes open. 


134 


BY A STRANGE PATff. 


“Well,” said Krasmir, “did you ever see the 
beat of that ? ” 

Storty’s mouth stretched into a wide grin, and 
he shook his head emphatically. 

“ Of course you have n’t. There is n’t another 
horsewoman like the frau the world over; and 
as for the mare, well, you could put her by thou- 
sands and they ’d be like lamps by the sun. Now 
observe ; she is like a queen among horses and 
she is wise. If you had hold of her halter she 
would crush you as flat as a bedbug. You would 
n’t know where to poke yourself. The thing is 
a marvel that she, like humans, knows what a 
wonderful woman the frau is. The frau manages 
her as she pleases. See there, now! ” 

Gentle as a kitten, the mare was walking sedately 
behind her mistress round and round, Tom follow- 
ing at her heels with a proud air that seemed to 
say, “ My oversight keeps things straight.” 

“You had better be tending to your business, 
Storty,” said Krasmir, with the authority of one 
who had a right to spend as many moments as 
he chose leaning against the barn and dispensing 
advice to his neighbors. 

“ Get it into your skull that work comes first, 
and then play. You are cut out for an idler and 
a vagabond if you don’t mend your ways.” 


THE MASTERS CALL. 


135 


Storty, who was very ignorant, good-natured, 
and willing, and so accustomed to rebuffs that he 
meekly accepted them as a regular part of his lot 
in life, shuffled immediately back to his work. 

The frau, who had overheard this reproof as she 
neared them, said gayly : — 

“It won’t do to give good advice, Krasmir, and 
not act on it ourselves.” 

Krasmir turned his head away with a smile. 

“ Advice is the easiest thing in the world to 
give, mistress. And when we see others do a fine 
action we feel satisfaction that it is because we 
planted the seed of that action in their minds. 
Also, observe, my character as an industrious man 
is sure ; whereas, Storty is in the forming, you 
may say. As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined.” 

“Well, Krasmir, you have an industrious tongue; 
no one can gainsay that. Steady, Violetta ! ” 

She led the mare into her stall, and after a fond 
parting caress, went to visit the sheep stables, 
inspect the various breeds, and consult with old 
August Eiche, who had charge of them. 

So she visited everything — the fields, the houses 
of her peasants, the workshops. Day after day 
she went through this routine. Thus it was that 
matters moved with such system, that her laborers 


136 BY A STRANGE PA TH. 

through daily lessons became permeated with her 
ideas. 

“I have my humble corner of the earth," she 
said. I want to give right and safe direction to 
those about me. I want to make them better 
men, better women. I have striven to eliminate 
prejudices, to put wise ideas in the place of foolish 
ones. I want my friends to see that I consult 
their interests as if they were my own." 

She looked after the morals of her dependents, 
their bodies and souls, their general welfare. 
Without preaching sermons, she inculcated preg- 
nant truths. Her acts were sermons, her looks, 
her whole example. 

Merriment and industry reigned in the farm- 
house. The maids were busy baking bread and 
preparing food for the reapers. Laughter, song, 
and merry speech were in the air. The weather 
signs were favorable ; no rain was in prospect. 
In the wheelwright shop the new workman, tall 
and brawny, with sinewy arms, leather apron, and 
keen, good face, sharpened tools and put in order 
the carts. The hum of life and animation was 
everywhere ; it was a human bee-hive where all 
were workers and drones had no place. 

And so the long, beautiful day passed. The sun 


THE MASTER'S CALL. 


137 


went down in a glory of color and grandeur, its 
golden fires irradiating the valley with what 
seemed a heavenly beauty. The good frau, look- 
ing abroad over the landscape from her chamber 
window, whither she had gone to drop from her 
soul the day’s cares and trials, while she knelt in 
the presence of her Saviour, exclaimed in raptur- 
ous joy : — 

‘‘ My God, how manifold are thy works ! In 
wisdom hast thou created them all.” 

Late hours were not kept at the farm-house. 

God gives us the day for work and service,” 
said the frau ; “ the night for rest and quiet.” 

Therefore, by nine o’clock all lights were out, 
as a rule, and the buildings lay dark and silent 
beneath the stars, save for the occasional stamping 
of animals in their stalls, the low of a cow, the 
rattling of a chain, or the shrill crow of some 
presuming cock, that, not having learned to rightly 
divide time, would have ushered in a reign of 
bewilderment by signaling dawn at midnight. 

On this especial night quiet and security reigned, 
and the moon, rising, hung a gibbous wraith in the 
concave of the sky, and earth looked wan beneath 
its light, and the hush of silence brooded. 

But in the stillness was coming a swift and terri- 


138 by A STRANGE PATH. 

ble messenger, more terrible than any among the 
sons of men ; and this was the summons he bore 
to the good Frau Weitmoser : — 

‘^The Master is come, and calleth for thee.” 

No bolts or bars could withstand his invisible 
presence ; no prayers or tears turn him aside from 
his purpose. No unfinished task could stay his 
hand. The waiting harvest, wet with the dews of 
night, was as nothing to him. He knew no pause, 
no pity. The Master whose bidding he obeyed 
had said, ' Smite,’ and his glittering sword was 
unsheathed for the blow. 

*‘Elise! Elise ! ” It was the voice of the frau, 
quivering and broken with pain. “Elise ! Elise ! ” 

Elise, the red-headed housemaid, whose room 
was next to that of her mistress, turned uneasily 
on her pillow, as the cry came dully to her drowsy 
ears and penetrated vaguely to her brain. Then 
she drew a long breath, and still had her being in 
slumberland. 

“Elise! Elise!” 

This time the pained, troubled cry was nearer, 
and there came a tremulous tapping on the house- 
maid’s door. 

Elise, again disturbed, lifted her head with the 
fogs of sleep still bewildering her brain. The 


THE MASTER'S CALL. 


139 


moonlight streamed in through the small-paned 
window and gave a grotesque outline to her petti- 
coats that hung over a chair. Shadows lurked in 
the dim corners. Cold chills crept over her. 
What was that strange call and those mysterious 
tappings that had so suddenly roused her 

Elise, good creature that she was, had never been 
able to outgrow early superstitions, and still had 
a settled belief in the “ little people,” who were 
never to be defied or laughed at. She always slyly 
scattered grains of wheat upon the cellar stairs for 
them at night, in order to keep them good friends, 
and now in the chill midnight were they coming to 
her, bringing either blessing or ban t She trem- 
bled violently ; a cold sweat broke out on her 
limbs; she hid her face in the bedclothes. 

The door-latch rattled ; a sough of wind swept 
in. There was a faltering footstep ; then the 
plaintive cry : — 

Elise! Elise!” 

Surely that was the frau’s voice. No uncanny 
specters were near. Elise cautiously raised her 
head, and uttered a harsh cry; for there, pallid 
even in the moonlight, her night-dress wrapped 
about her, and trying to steady herself by the 
oaken chest, was the good mistress. 


140 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


“ Elise ! I am very ill, and I could make no one 
hear. I tried to keep still at first, but this pain 
i^ too terrible. I do not know what will happen. 
Go make me a plaster, and wake Krasmir and 
send him for the doctor and the good pastor. 
It is both that I may need. Hurry, good Elise.” 

She said this, not all at once, but brokenly in 
the intervals of pain, clutching her side with her 
hand, and uttering deep groans. 

Thoroughly awake now, the dismayed Elise 
sprang from her bed, and helped her mistress 
back to her own room. The house was aroused. 
Krasmir saddled the Baron, the fleet gray horse, 
and galloped to the dorf^ and the maids dressed 
and tip-toed about and huddled into the frauds 
room to see her gasping on her bed, while Elise 
hung over her vainly striving to assuage her mor- 
tal pain. 

And then hoof-beats thundered into the court- 
yard, and the Herr Doctor Maier from the dorfy 
dismounting from his steed, threw the bridle to 
Krasmir, who was alongside on the Baron, and 
hurried to the sick-room. 

The doctor was a tall, slender man, with keen, 
piercing eyes, whose energy of character was dis- 
played in every look and movement. A shadow 


THE MASTER'S CALL. 141 

came over his face as he approached the sick 
woman and earnestly studied her appearance. The 
wax candles on the mantel near the bed threw 
their light upon her, on her dulled eyes, her drawn, 
livid features, the purple shadows about her lips 
and eyes. 

“ I am on fire within, doctor,” she said mourn- 
fully, “ and yet, I am cold. I suffocate ! I suf- 
fer ! ” 

The doctor felt her pulse, placed his ear to her 
chest ; then he replaced the bedclothes, called for 
a spoon and glass, and bade them fetch hot-water 
bottles and put to her feet. He poured into some 
water a few drops of liquid from a phial and gave 
it her to swallow ; then he put the pillows more 
comfortably under her head and shoulders and 
moistened her lips. 

Their eyes met, his full of sad pity, hers of 
eager inquiry. “ Doctor, tell me the truth. Is 
this Death ? ” 

“Yes;” he said it slowly, as if h.e hated to syl- 
lable the word. 

She turned her face away for a few moments, 
and lay very still. She was facing eternity. 

There was a stir in the corridor ; some one 
was coming. The next moment the Herr Pastor 


142 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


Reuchlin entered the room with his benignant 
face and silvery hair. He approached the bed-side. 

“ Here is your pastor,” said the physician. 

The dying woman turned her countenance 
towards him ; a smile irradiated her features. 
“The bitterness is past: I am going home, 
Father.” A spasm of pain came on and she 
writhed in anguish. Then she said brokenly : “ It 
is so sudden, like a thief in the night, but I 
have on the wedding garment. Ah, poor Krasmir, 
is that you crying so loudly.? You must see to 
the harvest now. It is all slipping away from 
me. Here we have no continuing city. And all 
of you, my good servants, remember death comes ; 
God claims his own. Live to God, that you may 
die in his keeping. My dear pastor, in my yellow 
desk all my papers are tied and in order ; nothing 
is missing. My work is finished. And one last 
request for this poor body I am putting off. Bury 
it in the church vault beside the body of my dear 
Emanuel, that when the last trump sounds we 
may rise together in the resurrection. Ah, my 
friends, death is lonely. Dear pastor, pray God 
to comfort and receive me, for Christ’s sake, for 
Christ’s sake.” 

The pastor knelt, and the servants too fell on 


THE MASTER'S CALL. 


H3 

their knees. Sincere emotion convulsed rough, 
homely faces. Was not this one to whom they 
were bidding farewell their friend, their sister ? 
The tender modulations of the pastor’s voice 
arose, as he committed to God this his follower. 
The doctor, sitting beside the dying woman, wiped 
the damp from her brow and moistened her lips. 

The prayer ceased, but for the moment no one 
rose. 

“ It is all over — she is dead,” said the doctor 
with emotion. 


CHAPTER XII. 


AT THE BRUNNEN. 



‘HE news of the good frau’s death spread 


rapidly, and the next day the court-yard, 
the garden, the house, were filled with peasants, 
coming to inquire more closely into the matter and 
express, by their presence, their respect and sor- 
row. All stir of animation and life was gone. The 
animals were shut up in their quarters, the paths 
were swept ; the solemnity of death seemed to be 
diffused over all things. Tom, the mastiff, crouched 
motionless before the door of his mistress’ room, 
a pathetic entreaty in his dumb eyes. Violetta rat- 
tled her chains in her stall and pricked her ears 
intelligently when footsteps came near. The sun- 
shine slept on the meadows, aromatic airs breathed 
from the .flowers, clouds floated on the hills, and 
all was as beautiful as if death cast no shadow on 
human lives and earth was not a land of graves, a 
vast sepulcher. 

Elise, swollen-eyed and pale, was chatting in 
low tones with the Frau Hartmann, who had come 


144 


AT THE BRUNNEN. 1 45 

up early in the morning to proffer help and mani- 
fest her sympathy. 

“ It does not seem possible,” said the frau. 
“ Alas ! how will it be with you here when she is 
under the ground.? You have lost a good mis- 
tress. ■ There was I this morning, standing at the 
table mixing my dough, when in comes Karl’s wife 
Maria. ‘Sit down,’ said I. ‘You are early this 
morning, neighbor.’ ‘No, no,’ said she, ‘ I can not 
sit. I stopped in to tell you the sad news. The 
Frau Weitmoser died last night.’ You could have 
knocked me down with a feather. I just stared at 
her. ^ Nein ! you do not mean it.?’ ‘Yes, it is 
only too true.’ So I took my hands out of the 
dough. ‘ Tell me all,’ I said, ‘ for I can not believe 
it.’ Then when Maria went on, I ran and told the 
folks. My man said, ‘ No ! no! It can not be. It is 
impossible.’ ‘ Well,’ said I, ‘ I shall go right along 
up there when I have baked my bread ; for I knew, 
Elise, some one would be needed. Ah, it was only 
the other day she was at the mill, and I picked a 
bunch of hollyhocks for her, and so pleased as she 
was with them I She was fresh as a peach, and 
looked good for forty years yet. One would have 
said she was the last one to die.” 

Elise shook her head gravely. 


146 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


I have felt uneasy for some days. * Something 
is going to happen,’ thought I. ‘ All goes too 
well.’ There were signs and forebodings. A 
strange dog howled outside one night ; and my can- 
dle was wrapped in a winding-sheet. Such things 
trouble one. Yes, we have lost our head, our 
prop, our friend ! And others live who are worth 
nothing. There is Kattle, the dairymaid,” nodding 
towards a short, squat girl, standing disconsolately 
against the wall, her eyes red and swollen, her face 
convulsed with grief, “ a good-for-nothing, you may 
say. I warrant you she has left the milk un- 
skimmed in the pans this morning. Well, there 
she is, next door to a simpleton, knowing nothing 
but to do as she is bid ; a thorn in the flesh to those 
who have to do with her, a miserable orphan whom 
the good frau took and was trying to teach to 
work. I would have had no patience with her, but 
over and over again the mistress showed her how, 
till one could think of nothing but the blacksmith 
keeping on steadily beating out the iron on his 
anvil. If he throws it up, it is good for nothing ; 
if he keeps on, it is the horse-shoe in time. So 
did she work at Kattle. But if one must question. 
Why was the good mistress, who was so needed by 
us all, taken, and one like Kattle left ? And see. 


AT THE B RUN MEN. 


147 


there is Karl, the weaver,” pointing to a grotesque- 
looking, bent old man with snow-white hair beneath 
a broken hat, and coarse, many-patched garments, 
a sort of human ruin, the story of whose life, as 
written on his face, seemed grievous. He is a 
hapless creature, of no good to any one, and yet 
he lives, while she dies. Ach ! ach ! ” moaned 
Elise, rocking herself to and fro, the light of our 
house has gone out. There she lies in her best 
clothes on her bed, and her petticoats hung up in 
rows on their hooks in the closet. And under the 
foot of the bed her shoes stand with her stockings 
in them just as she placed them when she un- 
dressed last night. Alas ! alas ! ” 

At that moment Krasmir, coming in the yard, 
made his way to the grief-absorbed dairymaid 
Kattle. He took her rough hand. 

Do not make yourself sick with crying, my 
poor child. You have lost a good friend, but 
heaven is not far off, and we shall see her there 
soon, if we live as we should. What did she teach 
you every day } Was it not, ‘ Neglect not thy 
duties, Kattle. Be faithful to thy duties.’ And 
have you so soon forgotten her words.? Have 
the fowls been fed this morning and the milk 
skimmed .? If she were standing here alive, 
couldst thou expect her favor .? ” 


148 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

Kattle turned with a sob. 

I will do my work as I should, Krasmir, but 
who will ever again be kind to me as she was ? 
She loved me.” 

The funeral took place the next morning. A 
great assemblage followed the frau’s deeply gar- 
landed coffin to the church in the dor/ and placed 
the body in the low, dark crypt beneath the vener- 
able building, there to slumber beside the body of 
the husband of her youth until the resurrection. 

The weather had taken a change and the air was 
becoming excessively heated. The peasants, versed 
in weather-lore, prophesied a drought. The hot 
sun rays beat pitilessly upon the heavy dorf houses 
with their large yards and great round-headed gate- 
ways, upon the huge, uneven pavement stones, 
upon the brunnen itself, with its stone troughs and 
its musical flow of never-ceasing water. 

Here at the brunnen was the favorite congre- 
gating place. Here the women gathered with their 
tubs, and the peasants drove their unyoked cows to 
drink. And here, to-day, after the burial, groups 
were gathered in knots, and the hum of conversa- 
tion sounded above the cool splashing of the water. 

“Ah,” said an old, leathery-skinned man, “the 
death of a woman who was so good a woman is a 


AT THE BRUNNEN. 149 

loss that we all feel, but her memory will dwell in 
our hearts.” 

“She was good alike to man and beast,” said 
another. 

“ She had the ability of a general and the pa- 
tience of an angel.” 

“ Whatever her hand found to do, she did it with 
her might.” 

“She helped us all to be prosperous.” 

“ She loved her neighbor as herself.” 

“ She feared God and kept his commandments.” 

“ Well, well, friends, she was an excellent woman 
and a fine manager, and the Herr Liebeg will 
never find her mate,” said a loud-voiced, ruddy 
woman. “ But we all must die, and, as you know, 
matters go on much the same ; and some one is 
always in waiting to step into dead men’s shoes. 
Harvests must be gathered, fruits trained, and cat- 
tle looked after, no matter who dies ; so the ques- 
tion is now, Who will administer the big farm after 
this .? ” 

This question gave an impetus to conjectures 
and suppositions, and finally neighbors began to 
gossip and chatter about the immediate interests 
of themselves and their friends. Two cronies, in 
animated converse, looked up to see some one 
approaching. 


150 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

“Look!” said one, “the miller’s wife I Just 
look at her Johann I Pale as a wax-candle I And 
that is all the doings of the wicked nephew from 
Bremen whom they have treated as a son.” 

“ But in whom the devil is full-fledged. They 
say he would have killed Johann on the mountain 
had not the Wenzel lads been by.” 

“ And a thief too. It is a long time since he 
stole the poor old Frau Pontesegger’s guldens. It 
broke her heart.” 

“ He has the cunning of a fiend. He is not 
fit to be loose in the valley.” 

“ They have had great trouble with him from 
the start. He did not take kindly to their ways 
of living. He was poor and proud. He wanted 
to be given a university education.” 

“ And the miller, sensible as he is, had the 
wool pulled over his eyes by him. His wife says 
he was fairly bewitched.” 

“ On account of his good looks and sly ways, I 
suppose. I have often thought what a handsome 
lad he is.” 

“ Not I. There was something, I don’t know 
what, about him that made me creep. I am never 
taken in by people. My good man often says, 
‘Mary, the devil himself could not cheat you.’” 


A T THE BR UNNEN. I 5 I 

Maybe not ; but do not be too sure. The 
devil is arch.” 

“ But I am shrewd, and always looking out for 
the worst in people ; and as for looks, they go 
for nothing with me. Skin deep, that is all. 
Look at my Peter ; he is not handsome but his 
heart is white as milk. He would n’t hurt a 
flea.” 

“ Don’t be too sure : he might if it bit him. 
But everybody has their mouths full of the wick- 
edness of the Rast lad. He should be made an 
example of. It won’t do to let evil lads run loose. 
It does harm to the community.” 

“ There is no good in him,” says the miller’s 
wife. “ He swallows evil down like sugar, and 
where the heart is so wicked bad deeds come 
forth like muddy water from a soiled spring.” 

“ Well, well ! see the sun ! It is the dinner 
hour and I must go home and change my petti- 
coats and get dinner.” 

“ That I must, too. Erastus is so angry if the 
food is not on the table to the moment. Even if 
I am but five minutes late he has much to say. 
Men are so set in their ways.” 

“ That is so ; but without system things would 
go at loose ends. Good-by, my friend.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 

weather became hotter and drier. Morn- 
ing after morning the sun rose a ball of 
fire in a cloudless sky and sank at night red and 
lurid behind the western horizon. The roads 
were stretches of dust, and the white powder 
settled heavily on the dry grasses and weeds 
bordering it. The leaves shriveled on the trees, 
the soil became baked and cracked, and had it 
not been for the excellent system of irrigation all 
the crops would have suffered much. 

The intense heat told unfavorably upon man 
and beast. The long, hot days were terrible to 
the peasants who worked afield ; and babes grew 
fretful and ailing and pined at the mother’s breast. 
The cattle stamped and panted restlessly in their 
stalls. The milk curdled before it could cream, 
and the whey ate up what little cream did rise. 

On the steep mountain-sides, where the peasants 
toiled laboriously for scanty subsistence, vegeta- 
tion was burnt up and rough countenances were 


J52 


THE SA CRAMENTAL SABBA TH. 1 5 3 

saddened as they kept watch of the brassy, cloud- 
less skies^ that shed no tears over their blighted 
terrestrial interests. 

So two weeks of this trying weather passed, 
and there came the Sabbath when the sacrament 
of the holy communion was to be celebrated in 
the Lutheran church in the dorf. The church 
was a gothic building of sandstone, brick, and 
slate with lofty bell-tower and buttressed walls. 
Luxuriant ivy vines wreathed its venerable sides ; 
swallows flew in and out of its belfry windows; 
doves preened their plumage on its ridges and 
cooed softly to their mates. Around and about 
it was the Gott’s Acker,” where grasses grew 
rank and lush, and one could scarcely walk 
without treading upon graves. Some of these 
were carefully fenced around with trellises and 
planted with flowers ; some were unkempt and 
uncared for, as if the lonely sleepers beneath had 
passed from the memory of the living ; and some 
were marked with slight wooden crosses that 
showed it was but recently that death had claimed 
their occupants. A tender, solemn hush was 
everywhere in this resting-place of those who 
were not. The peaceful sunshine slept alike on 
all ; the gay butterfly flitted over the bending 


1 54 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


grasses; the bee sipped honey from the flowers 
that blossomed over pulseless hearts ; the insects 
sang their monotone. 

Quiet all ! And yet, once those sleepers had 
lived, loved, and suffered, and played their parts 
in the theater of life. For them bud had blos- 
somed and bird sung ; and they had woven plans 
in the frail texture of human life and impressed 
their natures and their influence on the lives that 
still went on in the valley, only to follow soon in 
their footsteps and be even as they were. Oh, 
lonely graveyards ! sepulchers of our loves, our 
plans, our joys, our hopes ! How could human 
hearts look into thy tombs and fail to sink shud- 
dering into the abysm of unbelief, were it not 
that Christ died and rose again } 

A pure tenor voice, rich and mellow, full of 
joyous trust, rang out from within the church and 
floated through the open windows, and, if sound 
never dies, ascended to the stars and repeated 
itself in the spheres : — 

“ A safe stronghold our God is still, 

A trusty shield and weapon ; 

He ’ll help us clear from all the ill 
That hath us now o’ertaken. 

The ancient Prince of Hell 
Hath risen with purpose fell ; 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 


155 


Strong mail of craft and power 
He weareth in this hour ; 

On earth is not his fellow. 

With force of arms we nothing can, 

Full soon were we down-ridden ; 

But for us fights the proper man, 

Whom God himself hath bidden. 

Ask ye, Who is this same? 

Christ Jesus is his name. 

The Lord Sabaoth’s Son, 

He and no other one 
Shall conquer in the battle. 

And were this world all devils o’er, 

And watching to devour us. 

We lay it not to heart so sore ; 

Not they can overpower us. 

And let the Prince of 111 
Look grim as e’er he will. 

He harms us not a whit : 

For why? His doom is writ, 

A word shall quickly slay him. 

God’s Word, for all their craft and force. 
One moment will not linger, 

But, spite of hell, shall have its course, 
’T is written by His finger. 

And though they take our life. 

Goods, honor, children, wife. 

Yet is their profit small ; 

These things shall vanish all. 

The City of God remaineth.” 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


156 

There was glad jubilance in the tones. The 
rugged, beautiful psalm of Luther voiced the 
manly heart of the singer. It was Suter Vogel, 
the sacristan of the church, who was moving 
about there at this early hour, seeing with pious 
care that the house of his God was in perfect 
order for the services of the day. He was a 
medium-sized, plump man, with fair and ruddy 
skin, beautiful golden hair, and child-like blue eyes. 
He was the village school-master, known and loved 
by all. His charm lay in his Christ-likeness, his 
amiable, gentle soul, that, forgetting self, sought 
to honor his Master and bless his fellows. There 
was nothing of the ascetic about him, for he was 
intensely human. It would have been impossible 
for him to have withdrawn from men and practiced 
suicidal austerities, to have ripened in spiritual life 
in a monastic cell or desert hut. He longed to lay 
his finger on the pulse of humanity, to smile with 
the joyous and weep with the sorrowful, to soothe 
the declining years of the old and sow blessed 
truths in the plastic hearts of the young. Al- 
though he never went about seeking happiness for 
himself, it came and nestled in his soul as he trod 
the sometimes rough paths of duty, and he seemed 
always like a clear and limpid brook that is silver 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 157 

in the sunlight, silver also when the sun has gone 
down and night shadows dull the landscape. 

For years he had been the church sacristan. 
He craved the office, not for any emolument it 
brought him, but because he loved to care for the 
courts of his God. In humble offices he testified 
his love, and looking backwards through the vista 
of centuries, he fancied how happy the Levites 
must have been as they cared for the things of 
the tabernacle where the Holy One dwelt between 
the cherubim. Abased, reverential, adoring, they 
must have served in the courts of their God. 

The psalm came to an end. He glanced out at 
the landscape, already swooning beneath the pas- 
sionate kisses of the sun, whilst the limes and 
lindens cast grateful shade upon the church. Then 
he turned and placed upon the altar the chaste 
silver chalice, in which the communion wine would 
stand uncovered during the service preceding the 
sacrament, and, as he did this, he chanted in his 
rich tones : — 

“How amiable are thy dwellings. Lord of Hosts. 
My soul desires and longs after the courts of the 
Lord. My body and soul rejoice themselves in 
the living God. For the bird has found a house 
and the swallow her nest, there she cherishes her 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


158 

young ; even thy altars, Lord of Sabaoth, my King 
and my God.” 

Just then, as the sweet notes ceased, a lithe, 
youthful figure entered the arched doorway and 
paused in the cool silence. 

Suter Vogel, glancing up, saw the miller’s nephew 
standing inside. 

“Ah! you have come,” he said cheerily, “and 
you have brought the strohwein^ for the com- 
munion. Thank you for bringing it thus early, 
and your good uncle for sending it. I gave to 
old Father Lurz my last bottle, for at the tavern 
they have only the heavy steinwein!' 

He looked earnestly at the boy as he went down 
and took the wine-jug from him. 

“ And this,” he thought, “ is the poor lad who, 
I hear, is so given over to evil. Would that I could 
know what was really at the bottom of his heart I 
He looks sad and unhappy, but not villainous. 

I must make friends with him soon, and let him 
see I care for his sorrows.” 

But Paul, in his present state of mind, craved 
no confidences. The sacristan had a pleasant face 
and a cheery voice. He looked happy and con- 
tented, while he, alas I what were not his mental 

* A wine made from grapes carefully packed in straw to preserve their 
sweetness. 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 


159 


sufferings ? He turned and strolled out into the 
graveyard, where, sitting in a sequestered corner, 
he was free to think until his brain throbbed and 
his heart ached. 

He had fallen in his own eyes. The mad rage 
of the murderer had surged and burned in his 
soul. Against the cousin who had been to him 
the epitome of sly cunning and greed he had lifted 
the hand of a Cain, and it was only because of 
God’s mercy that the blood of a soul was not on 
his hands to-day — the damned spot of blood 
that would not out. And what consequences had 
followed his mad act of passion ? He had alien- 
ated the good-will of his only friend, his uncle, 
and was pointed at by the community as one 
utterly reprobate. He suffered alone ; no one 
shared his troubles ; averted faces, cold, curious 
looks met him on every hand. He thought of 
hastening away — anywhere, anywhere from the 
place that had witnessed his poignant misery and 
shame. No one but would be glad for the with- 
drawal of his unwelcome presence, and he could 
keep body and soul together somewhere. 

It was sad but true that the miller’s faith in his 
nephew was entirely shattered. The daily drop- 
pings from the acrimonious tongues of his wife and 


i6o 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


mother could not help but penetrate his soul some- 
what, but he still remained actuated by the desire 
to benefit his nephew and bring the family to a 
better state of feeling towards him. The loss of 
the guldens had been a mysterious, inexplicable 
occurrence that had caused his perplexed soul to 
oscillate at times in the arc ’twixt faith and sus- 
picion, but still he had gone on determinedly 
cherishing a belief in the lad’s truth until the 
fatal day when Johann came home bruised and 
bleeding, the pitiable object of his cousin’s mur- 
derous wrath. From that moment he passed from 
belief to unbelief. The lad was a Judas, a hypo- 
crite ; he had struck at his benefactor in the 
person of his best beloved, and the miller’s anger 
was deep and implacable. 

Sooner or later a man comes to his right 
mind,” said Hartmann, as he sat smoking and 
drinking beer with his friend Gabriel Probst, the 
village burgermeister, in the village inn. I see 
plainly I have been greatly deceived in my nephew. 
You see, blood tells, and he was my sister’s son.” 
He twisted his cap and looked down into its crown 
for a few moments. After all, we are not infalli- 
ble. There is no shame in not wanting to believe 
evil of our fellows, and I wanted to believe in the 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. l6l 

lad. ‘Husband,’ said Lydia, ‘you are preparing 
a rod for your own back. You are wrong. You 
take from your own to feed the unworthy and 
improvident.’ But women take their dislikes, and 
I paid no attention. It would have been better 
had I listened ; she has always advised me well. 
There was trouble from the first between the two 
boys. It hurt my good Johann that a stranger 
should share my love ; it was natural, you see. 
Then that theft of the guldens! Friend Probst, 
to be pierced with fears, to be afraid one is a 
traitor, to see the grandmother raving over her 
loss, and Lydia saying, ‘ He fills me with horror ; 
he is a monster 1 ’ and to desire to feel that all was 
a mistake, that he was still worthy — ah ! that was 
indeed to be on the rack, to have one’s strength of 
soul leave one I ” 

“ That ’s easy to see,” said Probst, looking in- 
tently at him with his small, light eyes. 

“Then the day he set on my boy like a wild 
beast, for no cause as Johann and the Wenzels 
say ! When I saw my son almost dead, then I 
was struck to the heart. I saw I had been a 
fool. My blood boiled within me. Since that day 
I hate even to look upon his face. May it please 
God that he stays with me no longer ! I wish him 
not to be there.” 


i 62 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


“He ought to be in prison,” said Probst angrily. 
“No one else should be taken in by him ; you have 
a duty to your fellows. Forget he is your sister’s 
son. Treat him as law-breakers deserve.” 

A man of unswerving honesty was the burger- 
meister^ but also of much ignorance and small 
insight into human nature. When once ideas 
entered his slow brain he held to them with obsti- 
nate pertinacity open to no powers of reasoning. 
He felt that his old friend the miller should make 
a public example of this foe of public safety. 

The miller sighed, knocked the ashes from out 
his short black pipe, and rose to go. Unwittingly, 
he had planted seed that would bring forth a sad 
harvest. 

Paul knew only too well that he was looked 
upon as a black sheep in the community. It 
seemed to him now as he sat there in dull, brood- 
ing silence that he was becoming heart-seared, 
calloused, and once he had so loved and trusted ! 
Once a troubled look from his mother’s dove-like 
eyes would penetrate the depths of his infant soul 
and give him no rest until he had been forgiven. 
To-day, this morning, God’s people were to meet 
here in His courts to eat the broken bread and 
drink the wine in remembrance of Christ. God’s 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 1 63 

people ! He smiled bitterly. Johann would be 
among them — Johann with his low aims, his 
brutality, his lying lips — Johann, who in the cate- 
chetical class shouted so glibly with the chorus of 
boys : “ If we live we live unto the Lord. If we 
die we die unto the Lord.” 

Live unto the Lord ! But ah ! what was he to 
judge others ? he whom mad, un-Christ-like passion 
had conquered ! He hid his face in his hands, but 
no tears moistened his burning eyes. He could 
no longer weep. 

The day broadened hotly ; the dews were long 
since drunk up by the pitiless heat ; the air 
seemed to shimmer, and the deep, rich tones of 
the church-bell vibrated through the valley, peal- 
ing slower and more slowly, and dying away at 
last in faint pulsations of harmony. 

To this agricultural people the state of the 
weather, that so controlled their terrestrial inter- 
ests, was the principal topic of conversation as 
they came slowly in groups or met outside the 
church. 

“ This is the time for frozen puddings,” said a 
fat and therefore, just then, uncomfortable frau, 
as she mopped the moisture from her broad red 
face with her large handkerchief. 


1 64 strAnge path. 

Hey ! ” said a partially deaf old man, who from 
her action construed her remark to be likely as 
not a complaint. “ Well ! well ! folks are never 
satisfied, never have been and never will be. 
They think God does not know how rightly to 
manage affairs. They want rain, cold, ice, snow, 
and heat in their own times and places. It would 
be a queer mess enough if they had their own 
way. I would rather be out of such a world than 
in it. Now, I want heat to warm my chilled 
bones and blood. You want it cooler for your 
comfort. Hans there wants rain for his vineyard, 
and Johann, clear weather for his haying. Is it 
not so } I can imagine all these prayers going up 
to the good God. What a tangle, eh .? My meat 
is your poison ; but God is serene above all our 
little troubles. He rules and does his own will. 
I am glad, glad to leave everything in his 
hands.” 

“Very true, all you say, old neighbor,” said the 
woman vexedly, “ but I have made no complaint. 
I feel the heat, nevertheless. And when we see 
our crops consumed and our harvests a failure, we 
can not help asking God to mend matters. And 
to speak of frozen puddings on a hot day can not 
be fault-finding.” 


THE SACRAMENTAL SABBATH. 1 65 

“ Eh ! who is talking about being frozen ? ” said 
an old man in a blue blouse. “ I remember, and 
so do you all, that my son had his nose frozen 
off in Russia. Since then he believes in hot 
weather.” 

“ Well, neighbors, I say of a truth it is terrible 
dry, hot weather,” said old Martha the hemp- 
grower. “ I have lived eighty years, and I do not 
remember such furnace-like heat and such scorched 
gardens. I tell my Madeleine here that she may 
live to be my age and never again see, in her life- 
time, weather like this.” 

Madeleine, old Martha’s grandchild, who was 
supporting her grandmother’s steps, laughed and 
nodded. She was a tall, shapely girl, with flaxen 
braids that fell to her waist, eyes like shy violets, 
and a complexion brilliant in its beautiful fairness. 
She was dressed simply in white, with a blue ker- 
chief knotted about her round, smooth neck. 

“ Hey ! but, Martha, your Madeleine looks like 
an angel,” said the deaf old man, fixing his sunken 
eyes upon the charming girl. “Ah, how time 
flies ! It seems but yesterday she lay sucking her 
thumb in her cradle. Well, well, I was young, too, 
once, and now I totter on the grave’s brink ! ” 

“ My Madeleine is as good as she looks,” said 


1 66 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

the grandmother with pride. “She is a white 
lamb — the comfort of my last days. She treats 
me as if 1 were her child. She has learned the 
commandments and obeys them. But come; we 
must go inside.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A DAY OF TERROR. 



‘HE last low cadence of the bell had wavered 


into silence and the Sabbath hush rested 
upon the valley, while in the church the congre- 
gation had decorously composed themselves for 
prayer and psalm and solemn praise. Lifted for 
a while above, the daily round of trivial cares, they 
were free to dwell upon the mountain-tops of 
purer aspirations, and lift unspoken prayers for 
pardon and a closer walk with Him whose ear is 
ever open to the prayer of the contrite. 

Pastor Reuchlin, the picture of placid and be- 
nignant age, with his mild face in its frame of 
silvery hair, looked with the interest of the shep- 
herd upon his flock, while Pastor Ulrich, of K 

who was to assist him in dispensing the sacrament 
to the communicants, looked with mild scrutiny on 
his brother’s sheep. Pastor Ulrich was rotund, 
ruddy, with full red lips and twinkling eyes. But 
jolly and smiling as was his appearance, he was a 
man of deep religious fervor and consecration. 


167 


BY A STBANGB PATH. 


1 68 

He was worn and tired this morning, although 
none would judge it from his look. He had been 
up all night with an ailing child in order that his 
wife might have the repose she needed, and had 
ridden ten miles this morning in order to fulfill 
his engagement with brother Reuchlin. There- 
fore it is no wonder that he felt dull and drowsy 
and wished the flesh were not so burdensome, so 
much of a clog to the spirit that would fain soar 
above the murk and fogs of the world into the 
higher regions of spiritual thought. 

Pastor Reuchlin was an excellent pastor and his 
power lay rather in his pastoral work than in his 
eloquence as a preacher. His imagination was 
not fervid, nor his personality a powerful force 
that led and chained his hearers despite their wills. 
His oratory was totally unimpassioned, and as he 
stood in the high pulpit, the right hand passive on 
his breast beneath the clinging folds of his soft 
black gown, while his left one fell limply by his 
side, the effect of his homiletic droning acted on 
his peaceful listeners much as the drowsy hum of 
circling bees might to an idler lying on lush 
grasses under bowery trees. One head after 
another in the congregation sank on placid breasts, 
outward things became vague to dimming eyes, 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


169 


and the border-line of slumber was unconsciously 
passed. Children closed white lids over dulled 
eyes and nestled plump moist cheeks against 
motherly shoulders or in motherly laps. And 
without, the sun rose higher in the heavens, bees 
hummed, insects sported, clouds floated, and the 
valley lay shimmering in the torrid heat. 

And then, shall we chronicle it } although not 
to his detriment, the good Pastor Ulrich felt that 
fatal, pleasing, wily charm of slumber creeping 
upon him, binding his senses in its invisible 
meshes ; his fingers relaxed, he nodded his large, 
round head gently, he saw vaguely as through a 
mist, he listened dreamily to his brother’s mono- 
tone. He meant to rouse himself from this deli- 
cious langour, this lotus-like lulling of the mind, 
and then outward and visible objects vanished and 
he was at home sitting in his garden under the 
big linden. There was a big bee near by boom- 
ing in the flower cups, the kitten sat washing her 
paws in the sunshine ; she passed them deftly over 
her pretty ears and then scampered down the gar- 
den path after a bird. Old August, the weaver, 
came running by, with his coarse, patched gar- 
ments and his bent back. “ Herr Pastor ! ” he 
cried, “ the river has run dry and the mountain is 


170 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


moving into the dorf"' “ I must hurry, too, and 
get out of the way," thought the pastor. Just 
then, from out the vine-embowered gateway tod- 
dled his dear little two-year old Gretchen. Dear 
baby ! her cheeks were pink and moist from recent 
slumber, her brown hair clustered in rings over 
her white brow, her shining, love-lit eyes were 
fastened upon him, her dimpled, charming hands 
outstretched. He opened his arms, caught her, 
hugged her closely. She crowded against his 
knee, pressed her warm, soft lips to his, pulled at 
his chin with her rose-leaf hands. I love you," 
she cooed. He strained her closely to him. 
Worlds could not buy her ; his heart ached with 
its intensity of love. He kissed her eyelids, her 
cheeks, her dimpled shoulders, and then — he gave 
a convulsive start. Gone was garden and grateful 
shade of the lindens, vanished the baby face. 
Beneath him were the people, above him the 
vaulted arches, before him was the good Pastor 
Reuchlin mildly holding forth. He looked guilt- 
ily at the great clock in the rear of the church, 
cold beads of sweat bedewed his brow. Had he 
been asleep and dreaming in the face of a devout 
congregation } What example was this for a 
leader of the people to set ! what an insult to his 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


I71 

worthy brother ! And yet, it was scarcely five 
minutes since he had lost the thread of his dis- 
course. He wiped his face, folded his arms 
squarely across his breast and fixed his eyes 
sternly on a carving on a pillar to the right. 
Oh, the burden of this material frame ! He was 
abased in contrition. “ I sin because of the 
weakness of the flesh,” he thought penitently. 
“ I must keep my body in subjection ; ” and cast 
down and sorrowful, he slumbered no more. 

When the time arrived for administering the 
communion, the two pastors descended from the 
pulpit and approached the altar, on which had 
stood uncovered during the long service the chalice 
brimmed with wine, and the bread. Of these em- 
blems the communicants, who had neither eaten 
nor drunken that morning, were now to partake. 

They came devoutly in two rows up the long 
aisle to the table of their Lord, the men preced- 
ing, the women following — one hundred and over 
communicants. To each one Pastor Reuchlin gave 
the bread, emblem of Christ’s broken body, and 
Pastor Ulrich gave the wine, emblem of the pre- 
cious blood shed on Calvary. 

The moments passed. The solemn act of re- 
newed consecration was over. In their pews the 


172 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


congregation were joining in the closing services, 
when suddenly a frenzied cry of pain shivered the 
air, and the old Frau Pontesegger, writhing in pain, 
contorted in agony, strove to stumble out of the 
building into the freer air. Half a dozen started 
to help her, when suddenly one of the helpers 
paused, writhed in anguish, and emitted shrill 
cries. And then — was it a moment, or was it 
longer, when moans, heart-rending groans, and piti- 
ful cries ascended from all portions of the church ? 
Merciful God ! What visitation was this ? What 
fell plague stalked abroad at noonday smiting with 
merciless haste ? 

The congregation were fear-stricken. The ser- 
vices were not ended. They stopped in horror 
and dismay. Panic prevailed. Men, women, chil- 
dren pushed and fought to reach the air, to escape 
from this besom of destruction. 

The plague ! the plague ! ” was the terrible 
cry. “ Good God ! We are smitten with the 
plague ! ” 

Heedless of all claims of humanity, many 
rushed like brutes from the presence of their 
smitten, suffering fellows, the blind instinct of 
self-preservation dominating them above all else. 
The doff was wild with terror ; fleeing forms were 


A DAY OF TERROR. 173 

seen on every hand ; consternation indescribable 
prevailed. 

When the Herr Doctor Maier appeared on the 
scene, hastily summoned from the bedside of a 
peasant woman in the mountain, he was sur- 
rounded by a disorderly, demoralized crowd, talk- 
ing and weeping at once. Nothing had yet been 
done for the sufferers, who were constantly being 
added to. 

The doctor was a man with a cool brain and the 
authority of reason, and began at once to evolve 
order from out this tremendous confusion. Obe- 
dient to his decisive commands, the trembling 
peasants opened their houses to receive the sick. 
Others he detailed to carry the helpless ones 
thither and place them in beds. Others acted 
as nurses under his direction. He worked with 
almost superhuman energy. Each one related to 
the other that the doctor said this was not the 
plague. Sobbing and weeping, those who had 
been prevailed upon to become good Samaritans 
waited upon their friends and obeyed his orders. 

Doctor Vischer, of K , came an hour later 

on a foaming steed. 

It is the plague ! ” he said decisively. ‘‘ Pre- 
pare at once bonfires of cypress, juniper-wood, 


174 


BY A STRANGE PA TH. 


myrrh, and pine-gums. Burn them in the streets, 
in braziers in the sick-rooms. No time must be 
lost.” 

Doctor Maier, who was busied near him, turned 
about and faced him squarely. 

“ It is not the plague.” 

Vischer colored hotly. Ominous sparkles shone 
in his eyes. 

“ Are you an authority on the plague, worthy 
friend } I tell you, when I was in Prague ” — 

** I do not care a dolt for your being in Prague, 
or what you saw there,” answered Maier, with cold 
precision. This is a strange visitation, but I snap 
my fingers at the plague, and also at your bon- 
fires.” 

Vischer choked. 

*‘If — if — you consider this fitting language — 
When I was in Prague ” — 

But the Herr Doctor Maier was gone, and the 
incensed practitioner could only glare after him in 
baffled rage. 

The moments and hours of this fateful Sabbath 
passed. Sixty of the communicants had been taken 
ill. Several had died in the most violent agonies ; 
others, of a more vigorous constitution, survived 
by the help of medical assistance. Dozens had 


A DAY OF TERROR. 175 

fled the town in frantic terror. Consternation 
was rife everywhere ; images of mourning were 
on every hand. 

In the burgermeister' s yard a group of men had 
assembled. They said little ; their very presences 
were painful, as those oppressed with gloom and 
misery. The burgermeister came slowly towards 
them, and they fastened their gaze upon him. 
Probst was an enormously developed man, strong 
and muscular, with a heavy jaw and animal con- 
tour of face. He was slow to apprehend, hard to 
reason with, and tenacious as an ox of his opin- 
ions. However, he was the oracle of his ignorant 
neighbors, who continually satisfied his vanity by 
an unquestioning acceptance of his authority. 

‘‘Well,” he said, looking gravely at them, this 
terrible sickness is not the plague. Our Herr 
Doctor is a wise man, as you all know. He raised 
me once from a bed of sickness. Folks said, 

' Probst must die.’ He said, ^ Do not worry. I 
will bring you through.’ And he did. Now ob- 
serve, since half an hour after service no more 
have been smitten. Observe also, only those 
were taken ill who partook of the sacrament ; of 
those, not all. I only suffered a slight giddiness 
and a few retchings. Some suffered not at all. 


176 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


“Now, my friends, from whence did the commun- 
ion wine come? I make answer. It was strohwein 
from my friend’s the miller Hartmann. Who 
brought it to Suter Vogel, the sacristan ? I make 
answer. His wicked nephew. Ach^ Mein Gott!*' 
He paused. Rushing through the gateway, 
frenzied, despairing, came old Martha the hemp- 
grower, frantically beating her breast with her 
knotted hands. 

Hole den Schmied she shrieked, seeking the 
burgermeister. Ac/i! good man, they have taken 
away my Madeleine, my one ewe lamb. Dead, 
dead ! So they say, but I will not have it so. 
God has a heaven full of angels ; why should he 
rob me of my one comfort ? All the rest are 
gone. My Anna Barbara’s child alone was left 
me. You know her ; every one here knows how 
much she is to me. She reaps my fields, she pulls 
my flax and hemp. She comes to me in the house; 
I am to her as her child. ‘ Sit down, grand- 
mother ; ’ she says it gently, smiling in my face. 
I shut my eyes and feel her gently comb my hair. 
How tender she is ! 'Do I pull?’ she asks. Then 
she braids it and fastens it up ; she puts my hand- 
kerchief on my neck. ‘ Grandmother, you look so 
nice ! ’ All the day she sings ; her voice is sweet 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


177 


as the chiming of bells ; it rises, rises to the stars. 
I sit and listen and then I weep for very happi- 
ness. She kneads our bread ; she sews our gar- 
ments ; she is sunshine ; she is peace. She is 
eyes to me, feet to me, ears to me. She came to 
communion this morning, my pretty one, my 
white lamb. And — Ach^ Mein Gott ! It can not 
be ; she is not dead. It is not my ewe lamb they 
carried away ! I have not lost my child. Speak ! 
It is not true ! ” 

She laid a convulsive clutch upon his arm ; her 
sunken eyes devoured him with their wild, piteous 
scrutiny. Then she relaxed her hold, and he 
caught her as she fell — dead from a broken 
heart. 

A cry of consternation rose from the by- 
standers. Several stepped forward and bore the 
poor body reverently away. 

The burgermeister pointed after them. 

‘‘ My friends, you see this Ah, there has 
been foul work here to-day. The sacremental 
wine has been poisoned 

Groans and imprecations resounded ; a strange 
cry arose. “ Poisoned ! The wine was poisoned ! ” 
They surged after Probst as he went into his 
house. There in the living-room, on a hastily 


178 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


improvised cot, lay the miller attended by Paul. 
The miller was ghastly, livid ; his eyes were closed 
and he was apparently unconscious of his sur- 
roundings. Perhaps the noise and the voices 
penetrated his brain, for he slowly opened his eyes 
and fixed them on his nephew, who was chafing his 
limbs. 

“ What are you doing ” He spoke with difficulty 
and weariness. “Go from me. You have given 
me no end of trouble. You are a thief, a mur- 
derer, a Judas ! ” Then with a sepulchral groan 
he again relapsed into his stupor. 

To those beside him it was as if he had come 
back from the grave to denounce his nephew. 
They shuddered and fastened their gaze on Paul. 

brought the wine to the church this morn- 
ing,” said Probst, implacably denouncing the 
stunned and transfixed lad. “He took not the 
communion, although a communicant. He has a 
grudge to feed fat against the miller’s family.” 

Among the crowd was a little pox-pitted hunch- 
back with malevolent expression and keen, grayish 
eyes, who quickly jumped upon the table and be- 
gan haranguing his fellows. He looked like some 
crafty, greedy bird of prey, with his hooked nose 
and cunning glances. 


A DAY OF TERROR, 


179 


‘‘ My friends,” he said shrilly, put out your 
fires of cypress, juniper-wood, and pine-gums. 
Do you not see now, as our wise Herr Doctor 
Maier has said, ‘ They are useless ’ ? Do you not 
see now that it takes our worthy burgermeister 
to see through a mill-stone.?” 

He stretched his head forwards and pointed his 
talon-like hand eagerly towards them. 

“ Listen ! The Herr Doctor says, ‘ Poison has 
been at work.’ Listen again ! Only the commu- 
nicants have suffered. We, blind as moles, hear 
this and blink stupid as owls. But our bmger- 
meister thinks ; he puts together two and two ; he 
has a revelation. Among us is a stranger from 
Bremen, a wicked, ungrateful wretch. The miller 
Hartmann has housed, fed, and clothed him. 
What pay does he get .? The lad turns and rends 
him ; he breaks the commandments as egg-shells. 
‘Thou shalt not steal.’ Bah! He stole the grand- 
mother’s savings. There it was broken into frag- 
ments. ‘Thou shalt do no murder.’ There was 
nothing in that to keep him. Did he not nearly 
kill the miller’s son .? He has a grudge against 
those who have befriended him. He has a heart 
full of hate to his fellows. He brought the wine 
this morning I He would not partake of the sac- 


l8o BY A STRANGE PATH. 

rament ! What does this show ? ” The speaker 
brandished his arms furiously, the perspiration 
rolled in streams down his face. There he 
stands, the poisoner ! ” 

There were terrible, inarticulate cries ; impreca- 
tions resounded ; the maddened crowd surged 
upon the unhappy Paul. 

He looked into their relentless, accusing faces, 
overcome by the terrible events of the day. 
Stunned by these horrible accusations, he was 
voiceless, speechless ; his dry tongue clove to the 
roof of his mouth ; he was suffocated by the rush 
of overwhelming emotion. He put his hands 
forth feebly, as if to push them off. 

‘‘Oh, he would have us believe him innocent!" 
cried the hunchback angrily. “ Who ever yet 
was willing to take their deserts } Who ever 
confessed to a crime In the garden of Eden, 
the first sin, Adam put it on Eve, Eve on the 
serpent ! " 

“To the Altes Schloss with the wretch ! " said 
the burgermeister loudly and authoritatively. 

“ So be it ! " said the hunchback, nimbly jumping 
down. “ First accusation, then imprisonment, 
then trial, then confession, then punishment. Is 
it not so, worthy burgermeister!'' 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE WITCH ACCUSED. 

' I "‘HE Altes Schloss, that stood on an eminence 
to the north of the dorfy was a massive 
relic of the feudal ages. It was a source of pride 
to the peasantry, who had made walks and seats 
and provision for innocent enjoyment about it, but 
deep down within its time-stained walls, in its 
foundations, were gloomy dungeons damp with 
mold and slime, where Stygian darkness reigned 
and where were monstrous rings for confining 
prisoners. There were also terrible torture-cham- 
bers, where stocks and racks and screws and 
Spanish boots and other cruel instruments de- 
signed to extort confessions through bodily anguish 
were kept, black with age and fouled with blood- 
stains, and were still at times used by the ignorant 
authorities of the dorf. 

Here Paul was hurried, and so inflamed were the 
people with horror and rage at his supposed crime 
that he was several times on his way there in 
danger of becoming a victim to the unreasoning 
passions of the populace. 

m 


i 82 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


Here also was Suter Vogel brought to be held 
for examination. But he was gently dealt with. 
He had no enemies ; his character was above re- 
proach ; his examination would be merely a form. 
Nothing could lessen the confidence he had in- 
spired among the people. He was not loaded with 
chains or incarcerated, as was Paul, in one of the 
melancholy Stygian dungeons. Instead, one of 
the large upper chambers was his, where he could 
see his friends and enjoy the air and the sunlight. 

But Paul’s condition was truly pitiable. He was 
chained in a damp dungeon through whose massive 
walls could penetrate no light or fresh, pure air, 
where the horrible darkness about him was but a 
type of the horror of blackness that rested on his 
soul. He was stunned, helpless, confronted by a 
sense of his utter friendlessness and loneliness. 
Not one eye had met his in pity ; not one voice 
had spoken a word of cheer or comfort ; his heart 
swooned under the unshared burden of its sorrows. 
To feel that in all God’s earth there was no creat- 
ure whose heart throbbed for him with one pulse 
of sympathy — the knowledge was sickening, terri- 
ble. He cried out dully in his anguish, and the 
cry sounded in the grim silences like the wailings 
of a lost and hopeless soul. That the miller’s 


THE WITCH ACCUSED. 183 

nephew was the cause of their woes and sufferings 
was the frantic belief of the inhabitants of the 
community. Weighted with prejudices against him, 
they were willing to believe him capable of the 
greatest wickedness. Such a being was to the 
neighborhood as gout in the bones or cancer in 
the vitals — an evil that must be eliminated or 
direst effects would follow. And now came forth 
long-armed Hans with a story that was of grave 
importance and made the loutish Hans glory in 
the prominent position it gave him. 

The burgermeister and village authorities list- 
ened to his tale and saw in it new and black evi- 
dence. “ I was coming down the mountain road 
Saturday night,” he said, and there, at the cross- 
roads, sitting on the bank under the poplar-tree, 
were the mountain witch and Paul, the miller’s 
nephew. As you know, he is known lately 
for a good-for-nothing, and to see him hob-nob- 
bing with a wicked creature who is in league 
with the devil, and who has not a civil word in her 
head for a Christian, looks queer, to say the least. 
So thinks I, They ’re up to no good, and I ’ll see 
for myself. There was something in her lap they 
were looking at and talking over, and they had 
eyes and ears for no one. So I came softly be- 


184 


BY A STRANGB PATH, 


hind in the bushes, but, as bad luck would have it, 
I hit my sore toe that the stone fell on and mashed 
last week, and there I came sprawling alongside. 
But as I am a living man and a Christian, I hope 
to die and go to eternal torments if I did not hear 
her say loudly before I fell, ‘ Be careful ! It is 
poison.’ ” 

**Ack/” A murmur of horror sounded among 
the listeners. 

“ That ’s enough, enough, my friends,” said 
Probst. ^‘But go on, Hans.” 

Hans looked about on the intent countenances. 
For once in his commonplace life he had the sat- 
isfaction of knowing himself to be an oracle. He 
wished to lengthen the proud sweetness of the 
moment, and keep on the rack the intense, devour- 
ing curiosity of his listeners. 

He hitched up his leather breeches, ran his 
fingers through his coarse flaxen hair, and spat on 
the ground. Well, the old witch, hearing the 
rumpus and seeing me sprawling, threw her apron 
up over her lap and began to laugh and chuckle ; 
and the lad, he looked frightened, but presently he 
chuckled and laughed too, a murrain on him ! 

^ So that is what you get by spying ? ’ says the 
old woman. 



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THE WITCH ACCUSED. 1 85 

“ But I thought it best not to be saucy. ^ Good- 
evening, dame,’ said 1. ‘ Think you it looks like 

rain } ’ 

“ ‘ If you want to see signs of rain,’ says she, 
‘ look up in the sky ; there are no clouds under 
my apron,’ And with that she laughed evilly. 
‘ Do you not hear the pigs grunt, Paul } ’ she said 
to the lad. ‘ Hon ! hon ! I see one, and thou, 
Hans, if thou wantest the same sight, look into 
the first pool of water thou comest to.’ 

So I went back to the high-road having my 
trouble for my pains, and when I stopped at the 
corner and looked back, she had lifted her apron 
and there they were, looking and talking hard as 
ever. But what foul thing they had there I know 
not, but this I swear, that poison was what she was 
talking of.” 

“ Bring the old witch to the Altes Schloss ! ” 
was the inflamed cry as Hans finished his recital ; 
and the suspicious, angry rabble started with 
imprecatory cries for the mountain hut. 

They hastened over the hilly road to the pres- 
ence of the hapless creature, whom they found, as 
they expected, alone in her isolated cottage. Her 
faithful dog uttered deep growls and showed wolf- 
ish fangs at the intruders, but they clubbed him 


1 86 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

as he defended his post, and dragged his inani- 
mate body to one side, leaving it for dead. The 
old witch, hearing the tumult and hoarse cries, 
unbarred her door and stood on its threshold, 
holding a candle in an iron candlestick high above 
her head as she confronted the invaders. 

Even then fear gripped some superstitious souls 
as they stood there in that weird and ghostly hour, 
with shadows lurking in the crags hard by, and 
the dark trees seeming to touch with their slender 
lines the dim horizon, while this gaunt, grizzled 
specter, commonly reputed to be in league with 
the powers of evil, confronted them on her mys- 
terious threshold. Some of them fell back for a 
moment, smitten with a sense of their presump- 
tion, fearing lest some disembodied wraith should 
stalk forth at her bidding and work vengeance 
upon them. The brave Hans trembled in his 
shoes and wormed his way to the rear. If worst 
came to worst, he would use his legs and let the 
devil take the hindmost. 

“ What are you doing here } What is your 
business at this unseemly hour } ” 

Plainly, the witch was terrified. Her gaunt 
frame trembled ; the candle shook like an aspen 
in her hand. The btirgermeistery who was imme- 


THE WITCH ACCUSED. 187 

diately before her, saw this. Plainly, the evil 
woman was afraid. 

We come for you ! ” he cried angrily. Make 
no trouble. You are wanted at the Altes Schloss. 
There is trouble in which you have had a hand. 
Come! But stop I Put on your bonnet.” 

Determined and angry as he was, he had an 
odd sense, as he looked at her wrinkled features 
and snowy hair, that she was old and needed some 
protection from the dews. Seeing that she was 
tractable and really afraid of them, the curious 
crowd thronged and jostled each other to see the 
inside of her hut. Disappointment seized on 
them that no signs of necromancy or unhallowed 
arts were visible. The floor of the poor dwelling 
was the soil trodden hard, the furniture was a 
couple of stools, a spinning-wheel, and a wooden 
locker and a pallet in one corner. A pair of 
wooden shoes stood beside the door, and on a 
shelf were some earthenware bowls and a pail. 

Hans’ courage, which had come back when he 
saw the poor old creature bound, was now in the 
ascendency. He poked his nose up chimney and 
in the cupboard, thoroughly investigating every- 
thing, and then, as he with the others and their 
miserable prisoner took up the line of march for 


i88 


BV A STRANGE PATH. 


the dorfy he clamored loudly that her bonds should 
be more securely fastened. 

“For,” said he, “who knows the power of a 
witch } She has the devil’s crotchets in her head. 
Chain her well to-night in her dungeon, for on the 
morrow she may have vanished hair and hide. 
When one can fly up chimneys and sit on ridge- 
poles in the shape of a black cat, she can do any- 
thing, and bolts and bars are not going to stop 
her.” 

But the morrow found the old woman still 
chained in her dungeon, and, unloosing her, they 
led her to an upper chamber to confront the 
accomplice of her villainy. 

When the knowledge came to Paul that this 
unfortunate woman was there accused of giving 
him the poison with which to poison the com- 
munion wine, his uncontrollable agitation was 
constructed as evidence of fear and guilt. At 
that moment he was conscious of life only 
through suffering. 

“ Indeed, grandmother,” he cried, wringing his 
hands, “believe me, I am not to blame. I have 
not once spoken of you. I know nothing. Are 
they mad ? ” 

His distress went to her heart. In need herself 
of pity, her soul flowed forth in pity to him. 


THE WITCH ACCUSED. 


189 


It is only thy kindness that has undone me, 
poor child. It was sweet to my seared heart, like 
water in the desert to the thirsty one. Did I 
give thee poison, my pretty lad } Was it not a 
pink-faced caterpillar that I showed thee as we 
sat at the cross-roads ? I told thee to be careful, 
did I not ? that it was poisonous. And Hans, 
curses on his lying soul ! heard something, he 
knew not what, as he stole behind us through the 
bushes. But curses on him ! curses on every 
mother’s son of them all ! Would that they had 
had brewed for them some deadly draught and 
were lying stark and cold ! ” 

She raved, she cursed ; her paroxysm of un- 
controllable anger was terrible. She would answer 
no questions. She silenced them all with her 
shrill cries and vituperations. 

The magistrates could gain nothing by repeated 
questionings. The lad reiterated his innocence and 
denied any complicity with the witch. Therefore 
there remained only one thing to bring these 
obdurate wretches to confess, and that was the 
torture. A broken body meant a broken spirit. 

“ Away with them to the torture-chamber ! ” said 
Probst. “ Let no mercy be shown them ! ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE DOCTOR SEEKS A CAUSE. 

HERE was but one man in the dorf who 



objected strenuously to the course the 
ignorant magistrates were pursuing, and that was 
the Herr Doctor Maier. He had boldly insisted 
from the first that it was not the plague, and he 
had said it seemed more to him like some virulent 
local poison. Moreover, he had been the first 
to notice that the communicants only had been 
attacked with the violent disease. Probst, the 
burgermeister^ meditated profoundly on these 
facts, and the knowledge that Paul Rast had 
carried the wine to the church struck him with 
a sudden revelation, as the match sets fire to the 
train of gunpowder. He felt that he had sub- 
stantiated the Herr Doctor’s theory with undeni- 
able, substantial facts, and he. secretly was proud 
of his penetration and sagacity. And when he 
heard Hans’ account of the words of the old 
witch and her conference with Paul the evening’ 
before the fateful Sabbath, it proved to him be- 


190 


THE DOCTOR SEEKS A CAUSE, 19I 

yond a doubt that the two were partners in the 
damning crime. The witch was reputed a wise 
woman, versed in subtle arts and knowledge. Her 
hand was against every man but this black-hearted 
youth who consorted with and was favored by her. 
Having formed his convictions, Probst was there- 
after open to no argument or reasoning, and he 
led his fellows to adopt his belief as theirs. 

The good Pastor Reuchlin, who had been among 
the sufferers, was still unable to give counsel or 
restrain mad desires for speedy vengeance on the 
part of the people of the community against the 
authors of their woes. Excitement was still at 
fever-heat, and perplexed and troubled beyond the 
power of words to tell, the Herr Doctor strove 
vainly to gain some light on this baffling mystery. 
There had been no wine left from the sacrament, 
else he would have at once subjected it to analysis. 
He blindly groped, reaching out for clews, unwill- 
ing to shoulder providence with this mysterious 
happening, and there blindly leave it, while per- 
sons whom he believed unjustly accused were 
cruelly tortured and would have to render up 
innocent lives. And irritating beyond forbearance 
was it to hear the ignorant bulldog of a Probst 
say : ‘‘ As you yourself said, Herr Doctor, it is 


192 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


poison ; it is not the plague. As you first saw, 
only the communicants were taken ill.” So upon 
him as the foundation the impossible-to-reason- 
with burgermeister rested with satisfaction his 
argument. The physician, worn in mind and 
body, grew wan and haggard. Oh, to find the 
cause ! the cause ! the cause ! 

His little, brisk mother was dismayed and sore 
with anxiety as she noted his pre-occupation, his 
lack of appetite, his sleeplessness. When not 
visiting the sick he was sitting with knitted brow 
and unseeing eyes, lost in thought to all about him, 
or he consulted great tomes, only to cast them 
aside with a sort of despairing fury and begin to 
pace moodily the floor or wander aimlessly down 
the garden paths. He was no longer her merry, 
kind-hearted son, but a moody, engrossed creat- 
ure, strange to her in this peculiar phase of action. 
She could not understand such trouble over what, 
in one way, did not profoundly touch him, and 
was not harmful to his own well-being. She was 
a placid, kindly-going little creature, wrapped up 
in her domestic concerns and her son’s well-being. 
She was sorry for others’ misfortunes, but her 
sorrow never troubled her deeply. The terrible 
visitation of the preceding Sabbath had shocked 


THE DOCTOR SEEKS A CAUSE. 


193 


her, but as neither she nor her beloved Frederic 
suffered personally, she recovered gradually from 
her horror, and now puttered placidly about her 
kitchen among her pots and pans, cooking savory 
dishes for the convalescents, and willing to put all 
responsibility for what had happened on that ex- 
tremely convenient cause, '*a providential visita- 
tion.” She could hardly think any one could have 
been so like a very demon of the pit as to have 
poisoned the wine. She never accused people 
rashly ; her gentle soul could not comprehend lurid 
depths of infamy. 

Her mother’s heart was stirred within her as 
she watched her son’s failing appetite. As she 
expressed it, He did not eat nowadays enough 
to keep a sparrow alive.” She did everything to 
tempt his appetite ; she fell to stirring and mixing, 
and baking and roasting, and wept sorrowful tears 
in the privacy of her kitchen as she looked at 
untouched dishes. “I think I know just what will 
tempt my Frederic,” she said one morning ; there- 
fore for dessert she made a thin cake, on the top 
of which she placed beautiful straight rows of 
plums. She baked it in a long tin and cut it 
into strips, arranging it exactly as children build 
cob-houses. If he refuses to touch this,” 


194 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


she thought, then he is indeed in a pitiable 
condition ! ” 

Unmindful of the pangs that wrenched the lov- 
ing little mother’s heart, the doctor sat down that 
noon-time at the table. 

It was a pleasant, home-like scene — the sunny, 
spotlessly neat room, with the white curtains at 
the window, the polished heavy furniture, the gay 
flowers on the window-ledges, the maltese cat 
blinking on her rug in the sunshine, the grassy 
yard and terraced garden visible through the open 
door. 

The doctor took his seat at the table purely 
from force of habit, not because hunger pressed 
him. He was absorbed in thought, and taking a 
spoon, clinked it absently against the side of his 
coffee-cup. The strong, black, unsweetened coffee 
might perhaps steady his nerves. He drained the 
cup almost at a draught. The strong, savory soup, 
the roast and white bread he did not deign to 
touch. Then the trembling, anxious mother set 
the cake-plate temptingly before him, saying, — 

“Try this, my son.” 

How could he know how eagerly she watched 
the result } He shook his head wearily, rose and 
walked out-of-doors. Then the good mother’s 


THE DOCTOR SEEKS A CAUSE. 


195 


composure gave way, and she wept sore. It was 
a very trivial thing, but after all, it is the triviali- 
ties that are intimately blended with our lives. 

Her fond and solicitous eyes kept watch upon 
his movements. When she saw him the next 
morning go down cellar with a stone jug in his 
hand, she too pattered after, on pretense of getting 
vegetables. She saw him go to the big cobwebbed 
cask that held fruit of the vintage at least thirty 
years old. He was only half-grown when it was 
rolled there to its cool seclusion. He drew the 
spigot, and the rich bouquet of the wine greeted 
the nostrils ; then the gurgle of its flow was heard 
as it ran through the funnel into the jug. Much 
the frau wondered what he meant to do with that 
excellent wine, and strove to hold her peace and 
ask no questions. She forgot the vegetables as 
she followed him up and out into the yard. But 
her curiosity mastered her. 

For what did you draw that wine, my son 
He looked at her smiling ; his eyes sparkled ; 
his features were animated. 

drew it for an experiment, my little mother.” 
'‘But is it wise to experiment with the best 
wine ? ” she asked, her thrifty housewife instincts 
coming to the front. 


196 BY A STRANGE PATH. 

He bent down and kissed her forehead. He 
saw she looked pale and worried, and a sudden 
thought smote him that lately he had taken small 
thought for the good mother. 

‘‘ Well, if this experiment succeeds you will see 
me a happy man, good mother.” 

She watched him as he walked away. His 
return to his wonted manner and his caress de- 
lighted her. A smile crossed her ruddy face. 

“My Frederic is becoming himself again,” she 
said, “ and now I shall get a fat hen to roast for 
his dinner.” 

The doctor took his way through the dorf to the 
church. It was profoundly quiet there this morn- 
ing, but everywhere evidences of the last Sabbath’s 
disorder were painfully apparent, for Suter Vogel 
was still held in the Altes Schloss, and no one had 
taken on themselves his duties. 

Impetuous sunbeams shone into the eastern 
windows, and dust of gold blazed from the altar 
to them. A strange, sickly odor haunted the air ; 
the silver chalice lay on its side on the pavement ; 
dust lay thickly on the dark wood-work. The phy- 
sician’s footsteps echoed strangely in the stillness, 
as he walked down the wide central aisle, bent and 
picked up the chalice and restored it to its place 


THE DOCTOR SEEKS A CAUSE. 


197 


on the altar. He poured into it the ruddy wine, 
that took on a new luster from the sun-glints, and 
then, stepping back a few feet, he sat down and 
folded his arms over his breast, keeping his eyes 
steadily fixed upon the chalice. 

A dove flew softly upon the nearest window- 
ledge, a pretty thing, with plumage of iridescent 
dyes, and cooed sweetly for its mate. A wasp, 
darting in, flew here and there with an angry buzz, 
and finally settled, a streak of blackness, upon a 
carven leaf. And without the sunlight slept on 
the seared grasses, and all was bright and peaceful 
as if trouble and sorrow had no existence and earth 
was an Eden. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


STARTLING DEVELOPMENTS. 

HE burgermeister Probst sat out in his 



yard under the big walnut-tree, placidly 
puffing his short, black pipe. Confusion, not ex- 
actly picturesque, was around him. Old plows and 
wagons stood about, and wheels in various stages 
of dilapidation were propped against the wall. A 
flock of geese gabbled noisily ; a fat pig grunted 
in its pen ; cocks and hens scratched in the dusty 
ground, and a big mastiff lay stretched beside his 
master, his tongue lolling from his mouth. Under 
the grape-arbor sat Gretchen, the plump young 
wife, suckling a bouncing baby that was the pride 
of the smith’s heart. 

Gretchen was young and given to levity. 
Therefore her husband found it necessary to de- 
liver homilies and mix censure with praise in order 
that she might deport herself as his wife should. 
So now he looked at her in mild reproach. 

“Gretchen, the cow was not properly rubbed 
down this morning. When you neglect properly 


STAJ^ TUNG DE VEL 0PM ENTS, 


199 


caring for her, we suffer in having less milk, less 
cheese. You have given too much time to talking 
lately. To be sure, there has been much to talk 
about, and things have been made topsy-turvy; 
but now that those who were sick in the house 
have gone to their homes, and the dead have been 
buried, and the wretches who did the devil’s work 
have been found out and are meeting their de- 
serts, — for their stubborn spirits can not stand 
out much longer against the torture ; one sees 
they are weakening, — so now you must attend 
better to your household tasks.” 

Gretchen looked up placidly. She was an ox- 
like type of woman, slow, good-natured, given to 
receiving good advice mildly, even although she 
had not the slightest intention of acting upon it. 
She nodded her head with its heavy flaxen braids 
gently, and taking from her breast the dimpled 
baby hand, pressed it to her lips. 

Is he not a nice boy, August ? He grows to 
look like you more and more every day.” 

Then, thinking he had had his fill of nourish- 
ment, she set him down on the ground. The baby 
accepted the situation contentedly. He generally 
took all his happenings in a very philosophic way. 
When he crept or toddled eagerly after some desir- 


200 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


able object, and reached it only to have it removed 
to some unapproachable spot, he uttered no shrill 
lamentations and indulged in no angry gymnastics. 
Instead, he goo-gooed sweetly, stared hard for a 
moment or so, and immediately looked about him 
for other tempting appropriations. So now he 
looked towards his stalwart father, stretched forth 
his hands and insinuated that that worthy man 
had better come to his amusement. 

The gratified burgermeister forgot everything 
but that he was a father, and putting by his pipe 
proceeded to do an undignified act. Dropping on 
all fours, he crawled along to the bald-headed 
tyrant. 

‘‘ Baby want to ride horsey-horsey } ” 

Of course the baby wanted to “ride horsey.” 
What sane baby would not } And it proceeded to 
show its delight by vociferous crowings, and clutch- 
ing its hands in the thick hair that crowned the 
bullet-like head of the worthy blacksmith, it pulled 
without mercy. 

“ Softly ! softly ! ” said the father. 

At this moment a tall, slender form dashed 
through the round-headed gateway, dashed so 
frenziedly that he stumbled over a projecting 
brick, and greeted the astonished Probst with a 
reverential, Mussulman-like prostration. 


STAJ^ TUNG DE VEL OPMENTS. 


201 


The geese squawked and angrily craned their 
necks over heaps of rubbish, the hens flew, the 
baby goo-gooed, the dog barked vociferously, and 
a gentle smile parted Gretchen’s red, full lips. 

The burgermeister^ who had recognized the Herr 
Doctor Maier, and was profoundly ashamed to be 
caught off his dignity, forgot the child’s expecta- 
tions and sprang hurriedly to his feet, and the 
doctor, regaining an erect posture at the same 
moment, cried hastily : — 

“ Good burgermeister^ come with me ! Lose not 
a moment ! ” ' 

The good doctor was terribly excited. His eyes 
sparkled strangely ; he saw no one or thing be- 
sides the biirgermeister. 

Impressed by his tone and look, Probst, without 
interrogation, caught up his hollow-sided hat and 
started on a run after him. 

Gretchen opened her big eyes more widely and 
stared after their retreating forms. 

“ There goes August after the Herr Doctor like 
the tail to a kite,” she said, picking up the baby, 
which was sucking its thumb, already reconciled to 
the change in its prospects. 

Unfortunately the good Frau Maier, from her 
gateway, where she had stepped to signal a neigh- 


202 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


bor, saw the neck-and-neck race on this torrid 
morning between the doctor and the blacksmith. 

^‘Alas!” she cried, wringing her hands in de- 
spair, ** my son has gone mad and the burgermeister 
seeks to arrest him. The Lord have mercy on us ! 
I have feared this.” And, powerless to stir, she 
leaned against the stones for support. 

The two men reached the church. Their heavy 
footsteps resounded loudly down the aisle and 
reverberated in the echoes. 

Look ! look ! ” cried the doctor, pointing to 
the altar. 

Probst’s light-blue eyes stared curiously in that 
direction. 

“ Look at what ? I see the chalice full of wine.” 

That is not all ; look to some purpose ! See 
you nothing else ? ” 

'‘Well — eh — But I see little flies, many little 
flies;” and Probst marked hundreds, nay, thou- 
sands of tiny insects disporting in the sun-rays 
and drowning themselves in the sweet, tempting 
wine. “ Little flies ! Good heavens ! how many ! 
But,” with a petulant look at the doctor, “ is it for 
this that you would have me run my legs off this 
hot weather — simply to see little flies ? Ach! 
but there is a bad odor in the air.” 


S TAJ? TUNG DE VEL 0PM ENTS. 


203 


“ Look, Probst ! See ! ” 

The doctor traced the insects to the open win- 
dow and leaped lightly through it to the ground 
without. If the burgermeister had played as a 
boy “ Follow my leader,” he was equal to the 
occasion now, and vaulted easily after the doctor, 
who pointed to a large neglected hole in the 
church foundation that led directly into the crypt 
below. P'rom this hole a stream of insects was 
steadily rising. 

“ In the vault, three weeks ago, was buried the 
Frau Weitmoser,” said the doctor in agitated tones. 
“The heat since then has been torrid. Her body 
has rapidly decomposed, and it is these insects 
from her corpse that entered and were drowned in 
the communion wine, and the fatal effluvia is that 
which caused the mischief. Aye ! that has been 
the cause, the cause^ the cause ! Good Probst, I 
am not mad ; I am sane if ever man was. Have 
the vault opened. Prove true what I say; then 
take that old woman and young lad out of their 
dungeons. We have had horrors enough. Do 
not add to them by unjustly condemning the 
innocent.” 

By this time a curious crowd had gathered. It 
was not easy for them to understand the situation. 


204 


BV A STBANGE PATH. 


The doctor’s theory was strange for them to grasp, 
but his earnestness awakened curiosity, if not con- 
viction. Probst detailed four men to enter the 
vault and open the Frau Weitmoser’s coffin. 

A bareheaded, freckled boy ran breathlessly to 
the sacristan’s house for the ponderous key of the 
vault, and when the heavy door was opened, the 
throng pressed tumultuously about and looked 
down into the gloom after the descending men. 
But, alas ! theirs was a terribly fatal errand, for 
hardly had the coffin been opened than two of 
them fell senseless, overpowered by the fatal 
gases, and the remaining two staggered faintly 
from the noisome place. 

To restore the two was an impossibility, but as 
the doctor worked heroically over the others, he 
said to the burgermeister^ who stood near horror- 
stricken : — 

“ Good Probst, you see now ; it was the dead 
who worked the evil of last Sabbath, not the 
living.” 

And Probst said with white, quivering lips : “ I 
see now ; it was the dead.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AT THE MILL. 


T the mill that morning quiet reigned. Pure 



^ and tranquil over-arched the sky. The 
alders, lindens, and poplars stood unrustled by 
the breeze ; the clapping of the mill-wheels was 
silenced, and on the red bench against the white 
house wall sat the miller, pale and hollow-eyed, his 
flesh fallen away, his hands idly folded. Beside 
him sat the Frau Lydia, also bearing the marks of 
recent sickness. Johann, plump and comfortable- 
looking as ever, lay on his back at a little distance 
whistling brokenly at intervals. 

The frau wiped her eyes with her check apron. 

“ Poor old mother ! ” she said with emotion. 
“ Alas ! that she sleeps this day in the Gott’s 
Acker ! To die so suddenly, how terrible ! Ach/ 
how terrible it all was! Like a lightning flash! 
My brain turned ; I was mad ; every one pushing 
and screaming ! and the pains that got hold of 
one ! Was it not like the day of judgment } And 
who was ready ? ‘ Save me ! save me ! ’ cried poor 


205 


2o6 


BY A STRANGE BAT//. 


old mother. And there was old Dame Mariott 
right next, saying, ' Never mind me ; work over 
some one else. I am ready.’ But that is the dif- 
ference ; the two were never alike. Ours was a 
good mother ; she worked for our interests ; she 
laid up gold and silver for our Johann. But the 
black heart of your nephew ! To poison the wine ! 
If only he had never come over our threshold ! 
But you would not believe he was possessed by 
the devil. And now, too late, you see ; yes, you 
see ! ” 

The miller pressed his hands wearily to his 
head. His brain throbbed. The terrible crime 
of his nephew had completely undone him. It 
seemed as if hell had suddenly yawned before him 
and the fires of the pit poured forth sulphurously. 
Was the evil one so full grown in human breasts.? 
Had he cherished faith in such a viper .? 

“ Ta, ta ! Ta, ta ! ” sang the not unmusical voice 
of Gottlieb. The imbecile, who now ran towards 
them from around the house, was a delighted being, 
but the raven Klaus, which followed hard at his 
heels, was given completely over to a spirit of ran- 
corous anger. Never was a bird more positively 
mad. His feathers were ruffled, he uttered dis- 
cordant cries and pecked furiously at Gottlieb’s 
heels. 


AT THE MILL, 


207 


The matter was, that shortly before Gottlieb 
had found one of Klaus’ banks of deposit — such 
a secure bank as the wily bird had thought it, too, 
in the crotch of the walnut-tree by the poppy 
field. Shrieking with laughter, Gottlieb breath- 
lessly held forth his find. There was a rabbit 
lately killed and as neatly skinned as a person 
could have done it, a couple of knitting-needles, 
an old pipe, a ball of blue yarn, and a red 
stocking. 

“ Hole in the tree ! Hole way deep in ! ” he 
cried exultantly. “ Look, father ! I saw Klaus 
carry the rabbit there. I climbed up ; I put my 
hand in. Klaus pecked ! Klaus screamed ! Klaus 
bit ! See my hands ; they bleed. See what I have 
found ! ” 

The mother stretched forth her hands to ex- 
amine the treasures. Johann sprang up and 
attempted to pull the stocking from Gottlieb. 

The idea of Klaus hiding a stocking ! Ha, 
ha ! ” 

The poor grandmother’s knitting-needles,” 
said the frau. “ I remember well how we looked 
for them over and over again. And my blue ball ! 
What a rogue that Klaus is ! He ought not to 
live.” 


2o8 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


The stocking, give it me,” cried Gottlieb, 
pulling it fiercely. 

“ Hark ! it jingles,” cried Johann. 

“ Listen ! Let us see ! ” He possessed himself 
of it by force, and turning it upside down shook 
it well. 

Was it a magic stocking .? Certainly there was 
uncanny work somewhere, for out, with a musical 
jingle, came rolling and bouncing one, two, three, 
four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten guldens. 

The miller fastened astonished eyes on them. 
Then he looked blankly at his wife. 

It is” — 

“ The grandmother’s guldens ! ” She took the 
words out of his mouth. 

“ And Klaus stole them ! Mein Gott ! ” 

Johann and Gottlieb wrangled as they hurried 
to pick them up, and just then sounded a shrill, 
high-keyed voice. 

My friends ! my friends ! I come with won- 
derful news ! ” 

It was the little hunchback from the dorf, 
panting, breathless, his forehead bedewed with 
perspiration, his large straw hat in his hand. He 
sank down on a seat near by. 

*‘Ah, good people, I have run like a deer to 


AT THE MILL. 


209 


bring you the news first. It is astonishing. So 
you sow gold pieces here at the mill } Here is a 
gulden at my feet. Well, to the matter. Your 
nephew did not poison the wine ! ” 

They stared at him devouringly. 

Thank God! ” said the miller, looking ready to 
faint. 

‘‘ It was the Frau Weitmoser worked the ill.” 

Now thou liest, Peter Osterman,” said the 
frau. “ Get thee gone for a crazy man I The 
good frau has been dead and in her coffin these 
three weeks I ” 

Johann winked and tapped his forehead signifi- 
cantly. 

The hunchback, seeing this, was stung to the 
quick, as his self-love was inordinate. He stamped 
his foot angrily. 

‘‘ Not so fast, you people. Listen I Have we 
not in the dorf a wise man, the Herr Doctor 
Maier ? Probst the burgermeister also thinks him- 
self wise, and some simpletons believe it, but not 
I. Probst is pigheaded. He got it into his nod- 
dle that your poor nephew and the old mountain 
witch Vischer had poisoned the communion wine. 
Now when he gets an idea, there it is, hammered 
in, and a four-horse team can not draw it out. 


2 lO 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


Well, the Herr Doctor kept his brain at work 
and his eyes wide open. He was looking for a 
cause. But how do you go to work to look out 
causes, eh } Well, he had a revelation and he 
acted on it. What does he do this morning but 
carry a wine-jug to the church and fill the chalice 
with the wine. Then he watched it. What did 
he see } It was n’t long before he saw thousands 
of tiny flies falling into it and drowning them- 
selves. Well, what of that } Listen, and see. 
The wise Herr Doctor traced them in the sun- 
beams. Where ? To a hole outside opening into 
the vault. Then he knew like a flash the cause. 
Then he ran to Probst. ‘ Come ! ’ he said, and the 
biirgermeister ran after him like mad. Everybody 
saw the chase and, dropping everything, scurried 
after. There the doctor had Probst by the hole. 
‘ Open the vault,’ he said to him. ‘ The hot 
weather has caused the body of the Frau Weit- 
moser to decay. It is these insects in the wine, 
from her coffin, this effluvia in the air, that caused 
the sickness and deaths on the Sabbath. The boy 
is innocent ; the old woman is innocent ! ’ 

“But such a time! Probst ordered Johann 
Kauffman, Ernest Endres, George Eichler, and 
Hermann Storty to go down into the vault and 


AT THE MILL. 


21 I 


open the coffin. But it was terrible ; not to be 
talked about. Johann and Ernest fell dead — such 
a time as their poor families made. And, as for 
the others, the Herr Doctor worked over them 
with all his might for a long time. They came 
out all right after a while. Then we hurried to 
the Altes Schloss. Everybody crowded every- 
body. There was a babel of tongues. Everybody 
wanted to be first to get out the poor, wrongly 
accused lad. Good heavens ! One hardly knew 
him when he staggered out ! White } Why, he 
was bloodless, and his eyes seemed like suns in his 
face ! And great purple circles around his mouth 
and eyes, like wells ! He never smiled, never 
spoke. He seemed to be dumb, dazed. They 
took him on their shoulders, shouting and crying 
as they carried him. But he could not sit upright. 
They made a litter and carried him on it like a 
sick person. ‘Take him to my house,’ says the 
wise Herr Doctor. So they carried him there. 
By that time he was in a dead faint. Everybody 
is his friend now. Everybody is sorry that he was 
so cruelly tortured. 

“ As for Suter Vogel, he came out as gentle and 
amiable as ever. He had not been tortured, for 
who had ever believed him guilty } It had been 


212 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


only a mere matter of form that he had been 
locked in an upper chamber. When people 
flocked around, begging his pardon, he said, ‘ You 
meant me no harm, good friends ; I cherish no ill- 
will.’ As for the mountain witch, poor old creat- 
ure ! she just had no spirit at all. She looked a 
hundred years old. And her legs were so drawn 
out of one another by the rack that she was help- 
less. And she said nothing about herself ; it was 
all for the unjustly accused lad. ‘Will he per- 
ish.^’ she cried. ‘Never in my life did I know so 
gentle a lad. God forgive you for your wicked- 
ness towards him.’ So she went on. It made us 
shudder; we felt like murderers. But who was to 
blame.? Not we. It was you people here who had 
given him such a bad character. Don’t you see .? 
You made him known for a liar, thief, and al- 
most a murderer. So it all worked out from that. 
You set the bafl rolling and who was to stop it .? 
When it was known it was not the plague, and 
that he had carried the wine to the church that 
morning, and that he was on ill terms with you, — 
and then Hans, with his story about the old witch 
and the poison, — see, it all worked together. 
When one is a thief and ” — 

The miller put his hand feebly forth as if to 
check this flow of words. 


AT THE MILL. 


213 


No, no, Peter, Paul was not the thief. It was 
not he who stole the guldens. See, it was the 
raven there ! And these are the lost guldens. 
Klaus hid them in the crotch of the walnut-tree. 
Gottlieb found them just now. The bird hid the 
money.” 

‘‘Eh!” said the hunchback, astounded at this 
revelation. “ The bird stole them ! Well, now, 
things have come to a pretty pass. You all made 
it known that your nephew stole them. What ’s 
to be believed nowadays ? It is no joke to brand 
one a thief. For shame !” 

Well, if he did not steal the guldens,” cried 
the frau viciously, ‘Gt was not that he was not 
wicked enough. He has a wicked heart. He set 
on and nearly murdered our Johann, and your 
nephews, the Wenzel lads, were there and can 
prove it. And you, Peter Osterman, are a 
weathercock ; you swing on your vane any way the 
wind blows. I doubt not you cried guilty as loud 
as any one ! ” 

The hunchback gasped, and an angry color suf- 
fused his pitted face. 

*^Eh, but you are good at compliments, Frau 
Lydia ; but who knows the real truth about his 
setting on your Johann ? Your Johann has a 


214 


BY A S TRANCE PA TH. 


saucy tongue and a long head, and I remember 
once when he drubbed my nephew Franz almost 
to a jelly. He may have provoked his cousin to 
lay hold of him. At least, I shall now try to get 
the truth from my nephews, who have always been 
your Johann’s cat’s-paws. And now I must hasten 
further and carry my news to my good sister 
Wenzel. I know that I have brought gladness to 
your hearts in telling you of your nephew’s inno- 
cence.” 

And with a malevolent glance at the woman 
who had so ruthlessly wounded his self-love, the 
eager little man hastened away. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MUTUAL CONFESSIONS. 

TT seems hard that love and kindness are oft- 
times so tardy in their out-goings. Now, 
when Paul lay delirious on his couch at the doc- 
tor’s, people came flocking to the door anxious to 
hear of his condition. There was a great revul- 
sion of feeling ; remorse and pity swayed their 
minds. The pendulum of public opinion, having 
^ swung so far in their prejudice against him, now 
oscillated as far the other way. He was a mar- 
tyr, a saint. He had been wrongfully accused of 
theft ; he had been goaded to his combat with his 
cousin ; Peter Osterman, the hunchback, having 
lost no time in his desire to get even with the 
miller’s wife, had circulated this latter news. 

But Paul is unconscious of friendship or hatred 
as he tosses in delirium. He has gone down into 
the depths ; the waves have closed over him. He 
lies in darkness in an immeasurable chaos; his 
soul surges on waves of fire ; the heavens sink 
and crush him and a shoreless ocean stretches on 


215 


2i6 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


and outward, forever outward into unending space. 
Sparks of fire rain upon him. A voice, strident 
with the echoes of the universe, cries : — 

“ Will you confess ? ” 

No, I can not.” 

And then the laughter of demons surges about 
him, a great hand cleaves the waves and seizes 
him and draws him downward, ever downward 
where granite precipices yawn over fathomless 
abysses. 

“ Will you confess ? ” 

It is the voice of Probst. 

“No, I can not.” 

And again he sinks into oblivion. 

“ His is a terrible delirium,” says Suter Vogel, 
bending over him. “ But it is not to be wondered 
at. God alone knows what the poor, lonely lad 
has suffered. It hurts me to think of it. Not 
one to give him a compassionate look even. Not 
the consolation of one friendship ! Accused of a 
damning crime, loaded with chains, bolted in a 
dungeon, put to the torture ! How could he bear 
these woes and remain sane ? To me the thought 
of his sufferings is terrible. I do not understand 
how he lived under them. Then the sudden re- 
vulsion when they unbarred his dungeon, shouting 


MUTUAL CONFESSIONS. 


217 


that he was free ! It was too sudden. Giddy 
with the knowledge, his poor soul swooned on 
itself. He was stricken down as with a pistol- 
shot.” 

“ I shall do all that lies in my power for his 
restoration,” said the doctor, who was attentively 
studying the changed, pallid face. “ I shall leave 
not a stone unturned, and you can pray, Suter, for 
a blessing on my efforts.” 

** Amen I ” said Suter solemnly. 

It was not one day or two, but many, that a 
battle was fought with death on Paul’s sick couch. 
There were days of wild delirium, and others when 
he lay in a semi-comatose condition ; and during 
these days the Herr Doctor and Suter Vogel were 
unwearied in their care and watching. The doctor 
felt a singular attraction growing in his mind 
towards his helpless patient. 

“ I have neither wife nor child,” he said one day 
to Vogel. “ If this lad recovers, he shall be to me 
as my son.” 

There was one person who came often to the 
doctor’s with anxious inquiry, and that was the 
miller Hartmann. 

Little was said betwixt the physician and him. 

“Good-day, Herr Doctor.” 


2i8 


£V A STRANGE PATH. 


“ Good-day, worthy miller.” 

“ My nephew, is he better } ” 

“ He improves slowly. He took some nourish- 
ment and has gained a trifle.” 

“ And you will give him my love, and tell him I 
am glad to hear good news .? And you will let me 
see him when the proper time comes ? ” 

“ Assuredly, good friend.” 

Another day he would happen along with flowers 
or fruits. 

‘‘For my nephew, doctor. Does he eat and 
sleep well ? ” 

“Admirably, my friend, admirably.” 

But by-and-by came a day when the doctor said, 
“Come in and see your nephew to-day, my good 
friend. You can have half an hour’s talk with 
him. But I have something to say first. I love 
the lad and he has grown fond of me. I am his 
father henceforth. He will never go back to the 
mill again.” 

The miller made no answer to this, but went on 
alone into the cheerful room where his nephew 
awaited him. He found Paul sitting in an easy- 
chair by an open window. The change in his 
looks astonished his uncle, he was so thin and 
white and his eyes so large. Pleasure and glad- 


MUTUAL CONFESSIONS. 2ig 

ness irradiated his countenance when he recog- 
nized his visitor. He stretched forth his hands 
impetuously. 

“ Dear uncle ! ” 

“Dear lad!” 

And there the two were, gripping one an- 
other’s hands, their eyes misted, smiles and tears 
mingling. 

“Forgive me.” 

This was the miller’s first speech. 

“Forgive me, uncle.” 

“But it is I who have sinned against you, my 
lad.” 

“And I too have sinned, uncle. I will tell the 
truth. I was not contented when I was among 
you. There seemed to be an end of all my out- 
look. I did not want to delve a peasant laborer 
forever, and I fretted and repined, and I despised 
Johann. I never tried to become his friend and 
do him good. I wanted to let him alone. If he 
wanted to grovel in the mire, let him ; I washed 
my hands of him. And that day in the woods 
when he taunted me as a thief I was no longer 
master of myself. I could have killed him then 
and there. It was a terrible awakening to me. I 
never knew before of what depths of passion I 


220 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


was capable — I, whom my mother had called her 
gentle boy ! But I have suffered, uncle. I can 
never tell it ; only God knows. That terrible ac- 
cusation ! those hours in the dungeon ! the torture 
that was more cruel than death ! I said, * God has 
cast me off.’ Men have no pity. I was as one who 
hurls himself against an adamantine wall. ‘ There 
is no God ! ’ I cried, ‘ else he would not so cast me 
off. I will not pray ! ’ But what could I do No 
earthly friend ! no helper ! My brain reeled ; and 
then, in the blackness, the psalms I learned at my 
mother’s knee came to me. Over and over they 
sounded in my throbbing brain. They seemed the 
outpourings of my own soul. They steadied me 
when the blackness of the pit seemed to encom- 
pass me. I fell on my knees. I cried out, ‘ O 
God, thou art God ! ’ ‘I will lift up mine eyes 
unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My 
help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven 
and earth.’ I can never tell how those words 
quieted the passion and anguish within me ; how, 
when all hope of earthly joy had vanished forever, 
God came and filled with his presence the secret 
chambers of my heart. I was nothing, but God 
was peace and glory infinite, and I cried out, 
‘ No matter what happens to me, let me do Thy 
will’ ” 


MUTUAL CONFESSIONS. 


22 I 


Paul paused. His frame shook with emotion, 
and he pressed his hands to his heart. 

The miller hemmed and blew his nose sterto- 
rously. 

My lad ! my lad ! Well, that is the way to 
feel, but one can not find himself in such a frame 
of mind always. When one gets on some Pisgah 
top, he finds the Evil One at the foot ready to lay 
sly clutch on him when he comes down, and one 
has to be fighting forever. To drop one’s will al- 
ways is not so easy. But I must say that things 
look well for you now. The doctor says you are 
to be his son and go back to the mill no more, and 
for that I suppose you are not sorry, as you were 
like an eagle in a duck’s nest among us ; and 
mother could not understand you as she should 
have done. Mother is a good woman, but she 
never could get over your trouble with Johann. 
And, say what I may, I can not make her see 
through my eyes. As for poor Gottlieb, he is ask- ^ 
ing always, ‘ When comes Paul home } ’ The poor 
lad is fond of you, and well he may be, for you 
were ever good to him. But, my son, shame pos- 
sesses me. Remorse has clutched me that I so 
blackened your character. When Gottlieb found 
those ten guldens in the hole where that thievish 


222 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


bird had hidden them, I was stricken with inward 
torture. * Then it was not my nephew who stole 
the grandmother’s guldens. We blasted his char- 
acter wrongfully. We would not believe him. By 
so doing, did we not help to set his feet on the 
downward path As we would believe no good of 
him, so we helped to put him in the way of renounc- 
ing good.’ These thoughts were daggers to my 
heart. I seemed to hear my poor Barbara saying, 
‘You have been an unjust judge. You have 
helped to ruin my child.’ I beg you now to for- 
give me my unjust thoughts, my unbridled speech 
to others. I want you to forgive us all — my 
Lydia, my Johann. You were good always; for 
me, I have nothing to forgive.” 

“ I forgive everything, my good uncle ; and, in 
truth, everything seemed to point to me as a thief. 
I saw it then, but I was helpless. I had only my 
word of truth to fall back upon. But as for being 
good always ! Indeed, I was far from good, uncle 
Johann. I have seen it all plainly as I have lain 
here on my bed thinking, thinking. I was selfish. 
I thought only of myself. ‘ God has given me 
powers of mind,’ I thought, ‘ and here I am with 
all doors for their expansion barred to me. There 
is no nouri^hrnent for them to be found in these 


MUTUAL CONFESSIONS. 


223 


mechanical toilings.’ I was selfish. I pitied myself 
and did not see the finger of God marking out my 
path. I shut myself up within myself. I used 
nothing for the good of others. I see it all 
plainly now. 

“ I have had short talks with Suter Vogel. He 
is such a good man ! And the doctor, he is so 
kind ! He is a second father to me. * You are my 
son,’ he said yesterday. ‘ I shall educate you. Your 
welfare shall be the object of my life. God has 
put you in my care through a strange chain of 
providential happenings. I will be able to open to 
you a wider sphere of usefulness than would have 
been possible to you had you stayed on at your 
uncle’s.’ I could not answer him for tears. I saw 
the finger of God as it had marked out my life, and 
my soul was filled with contrition and humility. I 
want to bury my selfishness, never to be resur- 
rected. I want to be simply God’s servant.” 

The boy spoke in sincerity. In the terrible trial 
that had lately passed upon him, young as he was, 
he had taken the measure of his own nothingness. 
And with God’s help he was ready, nay, eager to 
enter upon a fray where no truce is sounded, no 
sword laid aside, no armor to be unbuckled till God 
himself shall ungird his own, and bestow on them 


224 


BV A STRANGE PA TH. 


the only guerdon worth striving after, the crown of 
eternal life. For the battle with sin and self is a 
life-long struggle, from the cradle to the grave, and 
not until the last faint heart-throb pulsates and the 
soul returns to its Maker can the triumphant song 
be voiced: “Unto him that loved us, and washed 
us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us 
kings and priests unto God and his Father ; to him 
be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.” 

“Well, my friends,” said the doctor, entering the 
room, “ I guess I have let Paul do all the talking 
that is good for him. The old woman Vischer told 
me this morning, good miller, that you brought her 
a sack of the finest white flour yesterday. She 
was happy over it as a child. So you see kindness 
works miracles. There, in the empty house of poor 
old Martha, the old creature is really cheery and 
happy. Her legs are swollen and painful yet, but 
she hobbles about a little on crutches and sits in 
her doorway in the sunshine, peaceful and con- 
tented. She will lack for nothing so long as she 
lives, so anxious are the people to make up for their 
misguided conduct towards her. She cherishes no 
grudges ; she forgives everybody. And when they 
brought her down, her red dog came. Somehow 
or other he had managed to keep alive, notwith- 


MUTUAL CONFESSIONS, 


225 


standing they had beaten him so cruelly and left 
him for dead, simply because he had done his duty 
and stuck to his post. Well, her joy knew no 
bounds. She patted and cried over him, and ban- 
daged his wounds, and he was satisfied just to 
feebly wag his tail and look at her. But even his 
nature has changed, and he is friendly to every- 
body. Not a soul in the dorf would dare to mal- 
treat him. The most graceless urchin would not 
shy a stone at ‘poor old Frau Vischer’s dog.’ 
‘ Poor old Frau Vischer ! ’ That is what they call 
her now. No one says, ‘ the mountain witch.’ ” 

“ Well, Herr Doctor, I shall always have a bag 
of the best flour for the poor creature. Although 
I had no hand in dragging her to the torture, still 
I fear it was only because I was among the sick. 
I had always thought ill of her, and when one has 
not heart charity for his fellow, he is well on the 
road to do him evil.” 

“Very true, my sensible friend ; and now I will 
see you to the door and let my little mother bring 
my son some savory soup. She is so happy to 
have some one to tend to and make good things 
for ! I have not appetite enough to suit her ; so, 
you see, this lad, whom I am trying my best to 
build up bodily, is a treasure-trove to her.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE CURTAIN FALLS. 

F ive years have passed, and the dorf stands 
almost unchanged in the bright June sun- 
light. The streets are as narrow, the pavements 
as uneven as ever. The brmtnen is still the con- 
gregating place for tired peasants, thirsty animals, 
coquettish damsels, and smitten swains. The lofty 
church steeple rises above the clustering trees, and 
the lush grasses bend as of old over the lowly 
mounds in the Gott’s Acker, and on its eminence, 
still defiant of time and storm, stands the venerable 
Altes Schloss. 

The valley is fair and fertile as ever, and above 
it downy clouds float in the mysterious sky. It is 
a home of beauty, of thrift, and industrious pov- 
erty. Doctor Maier and his good friend, the 
sacristan and school-teacher, Suter Vogel, sit on a 
red bench under the linden in the doctor’s garden. 
The doctor only came home last night from a visit 
to his adopted son, Paul, who is at Leipzig Univer- 
sity, and Vogel has run in at his earliest conven- 
ience, eager to hear news concerning him. 


226 


THE C C/E TA/N FALLS. 227 

As they sit talking, a heavy wagon drawn by two 
big, lightish-bay horses, harnessed in ropes, lum- 
bers up to the round-headed gateway. 

“ Whoa ! ” cries a stentorian voice, as if the ani- 
mals were deaf as well as dumb, and a stout young 
man, throwing the lines to a fleshy, elderly woman 
who sits in the wagon beside him, clambers down 
and lifts out a large basket heaped with luscious, 
purple plums. 

“ It is Johann from the mill,” says the doctor. 
“He has brought plums for the little mother to 
dry in sugar.” 

The Frau Maier, sunny, cheery, and as much 
like a ruddy Spitzenberg as ever, comes out of the 
door to receive the plums. 

“They are very nice,” she says, after amiably 
saluting him. 

“Yes,” says Johann, in his oddly pitched, high 
tones, “ they are very fine this year, but then so are 
everybody’s ; and, you see, that spoils the market. 
We have so many we feed some to the pigs.” 

“ Well, it is good for every one if it is a good 
season.” 

“ Oh, no ! not so ! It spoils the market. It 
would be far better if some had had their crop 
blighted. But something always goes wrong.” 


228 


BY A STRANGE PATH. 


“Hark to that, Vogel,” said the doctor softly. 
“For arrant selfishness, I never saw that fellow’s 
beat. He would have sunshine and rain for his 
crops alone. Since his good father’s death, he has 
it all his own way at the mill. I call him a tyrant 
in a small way. His mother and poor Gottlieb are 
his slaves. By the way, how strange it seems 
that his mother should still cherish such dislike 
and resentment towards Paul. She will not speak 
to or of him ; to hear him praised is to her like 
vinegar to the teeth. Such animosity is almost 
startling.” 

“Whom we have injured we hate,” said Vogel 
tersely. 

Johann came slowly down the walk, his bulbous 
nose bent over the money he was counting. 

“Yes, this is right,” he said, putting it in his 
pocket, and peering at them with his small, ferret- 
like eyes. “This is golden weather, Herr Doctor, 
good for wine-growers. I can sell you chickens, 
eggs, butter, fruits in their seasons, and I will have 
plenty of wine this year. Good-morning.” He 
clambered into the wagon, took the lines, and 
drove off. 

“ Poh ! ” said the doctor. “ Of all selfish creat- 
ures, he is the most selfish. He lives to make 


THE CURTAIN FALLS. 


229 


money and his soul gets leaner as his purse grows 
fatter. He leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” 

“ Sa you had a fine visit with our Paul } ” said 
Suter, anxious to hear further from his favorite. 

“ Fine ! why, it was the very finest ! I tell you 
frankly, Vogel, I never can thank God sufficiently 
for bringing the lad to me. I hate to think how 
bare my life would have been without him. He 
has talent and strength, keen wit and fiery elo- 
quence, and the humblest, truest, gentlest soul 
with it all. Wherever he is, he will leave an im- 
press for good on all about him. His is a conse- 
crated life.” 

“ Which is the only true life,” said Suter gently, 
“for ‘he that hath the Son hath life ; and he that 
hath not the Son of God hath not life.’ ” 


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